


Smoke Signals

by gaylax_ies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Childhood Friends, Competition, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Gay Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Summer Camp, Swearing, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylax_ies/pseuds/gaylax_ies
Summary: “I never, ever, ever, should’ve let you talk me into this.”“Keith, c’mon, it’s-”“Don’t you dare say ‘it’s not that bad,’ Shiro! It is that bad! It’s summer camp!”(A.K.A. The camp counsellor/rivalry/enemies-to-friends-to-lovers fic that nobody asked for but me.)





	1. Country Roads

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not beta-read, so please forgive me for any typos! I wanted to get if up ASAP, so I didn't have time to properly proofread it. I'll be looking over it every once in a while to fix any errors.  
> Finally, you can find me [HERE](http://gaylax-ies.tumblr.com) on my tumblr!!

Camp Capulet is situated in the Algonquin region of Ontario, a gruelling seven-hour drive from Ohio State University. Keith’s spent the entire ride curled up in the passenger’s seat of Shiro’s car, sulking, with My Chemical Romance playing too loudly through his earbuds. He’s doing that on purpose; he hopes that Shiro overhears it. Shiro reaches over and pulls one out, and Keith growls at him.

“Whoa, there, tiger, calm down,” Shiro chuckles, dropping the earbud between his fingers and setting his hand back on the wheel.

“I never, ever, _ever,_ should’ve let you talk me into this.”

“Keith, c’mon, it’s-”

“Don’t you _dare_ say ‘it’s not that bad,’ Shiro! It is that bad! It’s summer camp!” Keith protests as he throws his arms up, yelping in shock when his hands hit the roof of Shiro’s pickup truck. He crosses them over his chest and glares out into the road, the forest lining both sides a grim reminder of what he has coming in the next eight weeks.

“It’s not that bad,” Shiro presses on, “I’ve been going for fifteen years. Do you think I’d keep going back if it was shit?”

Keith eyes him dubiously. “Yes, actually. It’s your stupid sense of loyalty or whatever. Plus, you like the campy kind of shit. I don’t.”

“Keith, what are you on about? You love being outside,” Shiro argues, side-eying him. Keith just shakes his head.

“Yeah, by myself, where I’m not dealing with a bunch of snot-nosed little brats,” he replies, crinkling his nose. In truth, he absolutely loves the outdoors. He loves curling up next to a warm fire and sleeping under the stars, walking through calm and tranquil forests, closing his eyes and just listening to the sounds as he breathes in clean, fresh air. But this, being a camp counsellor, taking care of children? Oh, fuck no, that’s definitely not Keith’s idea of a good time.

“Keith, listen to me,” Shiro says, his voice becoming completely serious. Keith raises his eyebrows in alarm. “You’ve already got the job; Alfor is counting on you to show up today. You can’t back out now, so you may as well stop complaining.”

Sighing loudly, Keith slumps against the window of the truck. “Fine,” he mumbles, shoulders drooping. Shiro’s mood instantly changes and he beams, reaching into his pocket to pull out a red bandana.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; you’ve got the red team this year.”

 

“Hunk, Hunk, hurry up, oh my god!” Lance cries, hands splayed out on the dashboard as he leans forward out of his seat. “Pedal to the metal, Hunk; come on!”

“I am a law-abiding citizen, Lance!” Hunk protests, “I’m not going 120 in a 70 just so you can death drop into the lake four minutes sooner!”

“Hunk, please!” Lance whines, smacking his hands against the dashboard insistently. He’s leaning so far out of his seat that his safety belt digs into his chest and cuts off his breathing, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to be at camp.

“If you want to be there so badly, then get out and run, why don’t you!” 

“I fuckin’ will, Hunk! Let me out, right now, I’m running,” Lance declares, taking his hands off the dash to shake his door handle.

Hunk jumps in alarm, his shoulders rising up to his ears. “No, please, I was joking, Lance, Lance, there are bears in the area, you can’t run, it’s dangerous-”

“Chill out, big man, I was joking too,” Lance chuckles, patting Hunk’s shoulder, “plus, I think _you’re_ the only bear in the area.”

Sighing in relief, Hunk slumps down towards the steering wheel and presses the slightest bit harder on the gas, his van lurching a little faster down the highway. The forest on both sides zooms by, a mess of blacks and blues and greens that makes Lance’s chest feel light.

“How old is Pidge now?” he wonders, tapping his fingers gently against the cool window. 

“I think she’s seventeen? Her birthday was in April, yeah?” Hunk replies, his brow furrowing as he tries to remember.

“Yeah. I sent her a card, but it said, ‘Birthday Boy, You’re Five!’ so I don’t think I had the accurate age,” Lance giggles, reminiscing to early April.

“What did she respond with?” Hunk asks, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“A photo of her flipping me off, postage due.”

“She really knows how to get revenge, doesn’t she?” Hunk says fondly, smiling out into the road.

“She’s the devil incarnate,” Lance replies, curling his legs up onto the seat and resting his chin on his knees.

“Amen to that,” Hunk giggles. 

Truthfully, they both have a soft spot for Pidge and have treated her like a little sister ever since their first year at camp, when she came up to ask about the shiny Pokémon cards they were playing with. Now, all three of them are close as family. Pidge lives in New Jersey, however, so camp is the only time they get to physically see each other.

“But anyways, Pidgie’s almost staff age now!” Lance cries, slapping his hands against his ankles. “She’ll be eighteen by next summer!”

“She’ll finally be actually allowed into the staff lounge!” Hunk replies.

“Not that that’s ever stopped her,” Lance chuckles. Pidge has a talent for getting into spaces that she shouldn’t be in; the staff lounge, the kitchen, the top lookout from the ten-storey Jungle without a rig or a spotter (it had taken ten people two hours to get her down from there without falling; her brother, Matt, had cried for the entire time).

“Speaking of Pidgie, is Matt coming back this year?” Hunk wonders, tapping his fingers to the radio. The signal's skipping, now, a surefire sign that they’re getting close to the campground.

“Yup. He and Shiro are co-heads for boating,” Lance replies, “and Allura’s crafts head this year, too.”

“Wow, actually? Damn,” Hunk says, “I forgot that they’ve been going for so long.”

“They’re fifth year staff this year, I’m pretty sure. Shiro’s twenty-three,” Lance replies.

“That’s so strange to me,” Hunk whispers, “it feels like it was our first day of camp yesterday, and now we’re third year staff.” His eyes start welling up and his fingers shake on the wheel, and Lance sets a hand on his arm.

“Don’t get all nostalgic on me, Hunk, because I’ll start crying. And, if I start crying, you’ll cry even harder, and then we’ll have to pull over, and we won’t get to camp as soon,” Lance chuckles, his hand squeezing tight around Hunk’s arm. He feels the nostalgia too, welling up in his chest and stomach, reminding him of his first day at camp. 

He’d been six years old, and was excitedly dragging his parents towards his cabin, when he’d found Hunk crying behind the dining hall.

“What’s wrong?” he’d asked, sitting down in front Hunk while his parents stood behind him.

“M-my parents l-left already and I m-m, I miss them,” Hunk whimpered, nervously looking up at Lance.

“Well, my parents are still here! They can be your parents for a little while, too! You should come to my cabin with us!” Lance had announced, standing back up and making grabby hands at Hunk.

“What cabin is it?” Hunk had asked as he took Lance’s hand and let Lance pull him up.

“Triumph! What about you?”

“I’m in Triumph, too.”

“Great, then we can be best friends, okay?”

“O-okay.”

As luck would have it, Lance and Hunk lived in the same part of Toronto. They grew up together after their first year at camp, frequenting each others houses, even going to the same high school. They had to split up for university, as Lance went to Queen’s and Hunk went to Carleton, but they still see each other on weekends. And now, they’re going back up to camp for the whole summer.

Lance is ecstatic.

 

“Pidge, what if I mess up? What if I forget how to solo a canoe? What if the kids don’t listen to me? What if they put their paddles in the sand? Oh, shit, Pidge, what if I’m no good at this?”

“Well, first things first, don’t fucking swear,” Pidge replies, swinging her earbuds around her finger, “and second, you’re going to do great, Matty. Boating’s been your shit since you were like, what, seven? You love it, and you love camp, and the kids will love you. And hey, even if you fuck up, Shiro won’t.”

“Okay, true,” Matt admits, huffing out a breath. His white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel loosens to something reasonable.

“See?” Pidge says lazily, “nothing to worry about. You know that lake like the back of your hand. And Shiro is like, sixty per cent canoe by now so, really, you’re going to be okay.”

“Nice mental image, Pidge,” Matt snorts, “imagine if Shiro was sixty per cent canoe. That’d be a serious breach of the laws of biology.”

“Would he have a yoke or something? Like, imagine just lifting Shiro up over your shoulders and hiking up a hill with him. Setting him down on the shore and climbing on? Tipping him and having to lift him over your head to pour the water out? Okay, yikes,” Pidge chuckles with a shudder, “I should stop, I’m creeping myself out.”

“Okay, but you know how canoes always smell like lemonade when you tip them over and climb into the air bubble?” Matt continues, “what would Shiro’s air bubble smell like?”

“Matt!” Pidge cries, smacking her brother’s arm lightly as she laughs, “I don’t want to know what Shiro’s air bubble would smell like; I am completely fine and happy without that knowledge!”

“I’m gonna find out what Shiro’s air bubble smells like,” Matt resolves with a look of sarcastic determination.

“Wow, gay,” Pidge teases, pinching Matt’s arm. Matt just giggles, shaking his head in amusement as he peers out into the road.

“It’s so weird to think that we’ve been coming here for over a decade and this only my second time driving,” he says, cocking his eyebrow.

“Well, dad’s already up there,” Pidge replies, “they’ve brought the kitchen staff up early for the past two years, and fuck knows I can’t drive.”

“Watch your fucking language, Katie,” Matt taunts, wiggling his eyebrows. Pidge reaches out and pulls hair out of one of them.

“It’s Katherine, you bastard,” Pidge replies, giggling as she flicks eyebrow hairs off of her fingertips.

“You need to stop doing that!” Matt whines, “I’m going to wind up with uneven eyebrows at this rate! You devil lady!”

“Hey there, buddy-o, you need to stop wiggling your eyebrows at me like a creepy old man!” Pidge protests in response, beaming at Matt in the rearview mirror.

“See, the thing is, I am a creepy old man,” Matt says in mock seriousness. He holds his poker face for less than five seconds before they both break down in giggles.

“Wait, wait, Matty, oh my god! It’s the sign, Matt, the sign!” Pidge shouts, tapping insistently on her window. To the right of the car, blindingly white against the forest green surrounding it, is the  large wooden sign for Camp Capulet.

“The sign! Pidgie, you know what time it is?”

“It’s camp time!”

 

Hunk’s navy blue minivan is already in the sand lot when Matt and Pidge pull in, and the car hasn’t even stopped completely when Pidge shoves her door open and leaps out. She stumbles when she hits the ground, dropping and rolling back to her feet before taking off at a sprint down the road that connects the parking lot to the rest of camp.

“Pidge! Hey, your stuff!” Matt shouts, but Pidge is already too far away and she doesn’t look like she’s stopping. “Okay, then, Shiro and I can bring it!”

Pidge hangs a sharp left and skids down the steep hill that leads to the south side of camp, where the beach is. After stumbling drunkenly to the bottom of the hill, she turns right and bounds down the stairs to the beach.

Hunk is stood on the long silver dock with a torpedo clutched in his arms, lifeguarding for Lance. It’s protocol, even though Lance really doesn’t need it. He looks up at Pidge’s pounding footsteps and it just about to say something to her when she crashes, fully clothed, into the lake.

“Lance!” she hollers, jarring him from his peaceful floating. He rises with a start, taking just a moment to grasp the situation before tackling Pidge into the water. They both go under, rolling around for just a moment before Lance brings them back to the surface. He flips over onto his back, cradling Pidge to his chest to keep her afloat.

“Oh my god, Pidgie, I’ve missed you so much,” Lance says breathlessly, holding her even tighter. Hunk hops down from the deck and into the lake, breaking protocol, and wades over to grab Pidge from Lance’s chest.

“She’s my little sister too, goddammit, let me give her a hug,” he whines sarcastically, letting Pidge find her feet on the lakebed. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

“I’ve missed you too, Hunky,” Pidge whispers, hopping up off the lakebed to climb Hunk, wrapping her legs around his waist. Lance stands and latches onto the both of them, resting his chin on Hunk’s arm where it wraps around Pidge’s back.

“I’m home,” they each whisper in perfect unison.

 

Matt is lying across the back seat of his sedan, the door near his head wide open and his feet hanging out of the opposite window, gladly whistling away to his iPod and enjoying the sun on his face, when a huge shadow is cast across him.

“Hey, Matty.”

The velocity at which Matt sits up gives him vertigo, and he slides backwards out of the car to land with an “oof,” on Shiro’s feet. Shiro looks down at him with concern for just a second before throwing his head back and howling. He laughs until he’s wheezing and hunched over; dry, scraping noises punch from his chest as tears well up in his eyes. Matt just glares half-heartedly.

“Thanks for the help, you know, I really appreciate it,” he says dryly, pushing himself up from the ground and dusting off his shorts. Shiro looks up at him from where he’s braced against his own knees, his eyes shining with laughter.

“Any time, Matty,” he pants. Matt just shakes his head and opens his arms, dragging Shiro into a hug. 

“I’ve missed you, man,” he says into Shiro’s shoulder, patting his back. Shiro just grips him even tighter and lifts his feet off the ground.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

There’s a quiet, awkward cough from somewhere behind them and Matt lifts his face from Shiro’s shoulder to take in the intruder. A boy, around twenty years of age, is leaning back against Shiro’s truck with his arms crossed over his chest, his bored expression doing nothing to mask his nervousness. He’s wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, scuffed up black Converse with red laces completing his 2005 emo aesthetic, and Matt recognizes him instantly.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, wriggling and kicking his legs to get Shiro to put him down. “Is that the famous, long-lost Brogane, here to join his brother’s summer family?”

“If, by that, you mean my little brother Keith, then yes,” Shiro replies.

“Cool. Hey, nice to meet you, Keith,” Matt says, shaking out of Shiro’s embrace and stepping forwards. He holds a hand out and Keith eyes it warily for a moment before accepting the handshake.

“It’s, uhh, it’s nice to meet you, too,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Matt rolls his eyes, “there’s nothing to be afraid of, dude, you’re gonna do great. And you’re on red, yeah?”

“Um, yeah, I am.”

“You’ve got second oldest boys, they’re pretty chill,” Matt says, “you lucked out on your cabin, too. Minnehaha is one of the best on the grounds.”

“Wait, how do you know?” Keith asks as his eyebrow raises in confusion, “Shiro said we wouldn’t get our cabin assignments till tomorrow.”

“Well, Shiro’s a bitch ass liar,” Matt replies, flipping Shiro off over his shoulder. Shiro laughs from somewhere behind him, and Matt can hear him pulling bags from the bed of his truck.

“Fuckin’ Shiro,” Keith mumbles, nose crinkling in annoyance.

“Yeah, he’s an asshole. You, of all people should know that; you’re his brother.”

“I guess,” Keith replies, a tiny grin cracking through his nervous expression. Matt beams in response, hitting Keith full force with what Shiro dubs “the Holt Smile.” According to rumour, it’s blinding, with cat-like little curls at the corners of the mouth, and the entire family carries it. Keith’s eyes widen and he blinks rapidly a few times, shifting his weight away from Matt.

“Did you just Holt Smile him?” Shiro asks, coming up behind Matt. Matt just swivels around and nails Shiro with the same smile. Shiro claps a hand over his mouth. “Oh, no, you do not. Not today, Matty.”

Matt licks Shiro’s hand, chuckling when Shiro pulls away with a look of disgust. “Do you think I could harness the power of the Holt Smile and use it as a weapon of mass destruction?”

“You already do,” Shiro deadpans, shaking his hand out in front of him, “and, speaking of the Holt Smile, where’s Satan?”

“Five bucks says she’s already in the lake,” Matt responds, “meaning that you have to help me bring her stuff in.”

“Can do. What cabin is she in this year?”

“Jupiter, all the way up the fucking hill,” Matt groans.

“Oh, wow, she’s gonna love climbing that multiple times every day for eight weeks,” Shiro chuckles, turning around towards Matt’s car, “which stuff is hers?”

“The stuff on the ground; I took it out of the car so I could lie in the back,” Matt replies, gesturing to the trunk, two duffles, and backpack scattered near the boot. 

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Does she really need all this stuff?”

“Of course she does,” Matt responds sarcastically, “she’s Pidge. I’ll take the duffles and you take the trunk and backpack, yeah?”

“We’re definitely going to have to take more than one trip; we’ve got Pidge’s stuff, your stuff, my stuff, Keith’s stuff… that’s a lot to transport,” Shiro comments, his brow furrowing in reluctance.

“Why don’t you just load it into the truck and drive it out?” Keith asks, unmoving from where he leans against Shiro’s door.

“No can do, Keith; Captain says we’re not allowed to drive around the place,” Shiro answers, slinging Pidge’s black backpack over his shoulders. It looks comically small on him.

“Oh, well, that’s stupid,” Keith whines. Shiro looks over his shoulder sternly, seeming like he’s about to reprimand him, when Matt interrupts.

“Don’t I know it; I’ve been lugging Pidge’s stuff to her cabin every summer for the past thirteen years.”

Keith snorts softly, the cross of his arms loosening as his foot taps erratically. His face crinkles, like he’s contemplating something.

“We’ll be back to help bring your stuff in a little while, okay, Keith?” Shiro says over his shoulder, hauling Pidge’s trunk up against his chest with a groan.

“I- um- well… do you guys want some help?” Keith offers nervously, his foot tapping even faster now. His hand comes up to cup the back of his neck and he avoids their eyes.

“Oh my flying fuck, yes,” Matt breathes immediately, bending forwards to drop the duffle bag that he’s slung over his chest like a reverse backpack. The other one is on his back, held in similar fashion. Wordlessly, Keith steps forward to pick up the bag that Matt just dropped, hauling it up across his back and looping it around his arms.

“Alrighty, Keith, you ready for your first look at camp?” Matt asks, stretching his arms out in front of him as Shiro leads the way down the road. Keith just shrugs.

“I guess I have to be.”

 

“What cabins are you guys in this year?”

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk are sitting on the dock, Hunk’s torpedo still clutched loosely in his arms. He’s technically still on duty, but he’s not doing anything official. Pidge is wrapped up in Lance’s towel and Hunk’s soaked t-shirt; her own clothes lie in a pile on the grass nearby. She’d opted to strip out of them and swim in Hunk’s shirt and her underwear; it’s safer than swimming fully clothed.

“I’m in Paint Pot,” Hunk announces, tapping idly against the torpedo.

“And I’m in Lighthouse,” Lance adds excitedly as his feet flick in and out of the water, careful not to splash any of it up at Pidge.

“You guys aren’t cabin mates this year?” Pidge asks, “weird. Why not?”

“Lance is lifeguarding for polar dip every morning,” Hunk says, drawing a loud shriek from Pidge.

“What? You are? Lance, you fucking madman, why would you ever want to do that?” 

“It’s fun!” Lance insists, “I like getting up early, and God knows I’m the most competent lifeguard here. Plus, I get Lighthouse to myself.”

“Fair enough,” Pidge concedes.

“Also, Alfor wanted me to room with the new guy,” Hunk continues.

Pidge cocks her head. “We have new staff this year?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, “Shiro’s little brother, apparently.”

“Shiro has a little brother?” Pidge yelps, smacking the dock. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“No idea, I’d have thought that Matt would tell you,” Lance says, shrugging. “But anyway, mystery Brogane is doing second oldest with me, so I hope he’s cool.”

“Wait, you’re working with Minnehaha?” Pidge wonders, her eyebrows furrowing. It’s more like Lance to be on the blue or white teams, not the red one.

“Nah, he’s in Minnehaha, I’m in Beehive,” Lance clarifies, “blue team, motherfuckers!”

“My team’s yellow,” Hunk says, “and my kids are in Alpha One.”

“Youngest again?” Pidge asks.

Hunk nods. “Always. The older kids are scarier.”

“Amen to that,” Pidge chuckles, “teenagers are scary.”

“Are you not a teenager?” Lance giggles, pushing his shoulder against Pidge’s.

“Are _you_ not a teenager?” she retaliates, shoving him.

“I’m not, in fact,” Lance declares, “I’m also not the one who says they’re scared of teenagers, you are.”

Pidge sets a hand on his back firmly. “Shut up,” she says, and pushes him off the dock. He flops into the water with a yelp.

“What about you, Pidge?” Hunk asks, completely ignoring Lance’s indignant shrieks. “What cabin are you in?”

“Jupiter,” Pidge replies, leaning off the dock ever so slightly to kick water at Lance, “we’re the green team.”

Hunk chuckles, “how do you manage to swing that every year? You’re always on the green team.”

“I’ve got friends in high places,” Pidge replies with a wink and a giggle.

By this point, Lance is irritated by the lack of attention he’s receiving. He swims underwater under he’s directly under Pidge’s feet and pops up abruptly, grabbing Pidge’s ankle and yanking her into the lake. Hunk grabs the towel as she falls, keeping it dry and out of the water.

“Lance!” Pidge screams, “you belligerent devil man! How dare you!” She leaps at his throat and he dodges, catching her against his shoulder and spinning her around.

“What are you doing to my little sister?” Matt yells, coming down the steps to the beach with an exaggerated swagger. His hands are on his hips and he waddles like a cowboy, jokingly trying to make himself more intimidating. It doesn’t work.

“Oh, nothing, just sacrificing her to Poseidon,” Lance shouts in reply, flopping backwards into the water. Pidge shrieks and clings to his chest, using him as a flotation device.

“Stop terrorizing Pidgie,” Shiro calls, following Matt down the dock towards Hunk. Hunk stands, opening his arms to wrap them around Matt’s shoulders.

“Hunky!” Matt cries, returning the hug happily, “how’s my favourite Canadian?”

“Hey!” Lance whines from the lake, “what about me?” He’s floating peacefully on his back, now, and Pidge is curled up on his chest as he supports her weight in the water.

“Eh,” Matt replies indifferently. Lance makes a protesting yelp and pouts.

“How’re you doing, Hunk?” Shiro asks, bumping shoulders with him. 

Hunk smiles, “I’m doing great, aside from the four hour drive I just faced with Lance. And you?”

“Pretty good myself, aside from the fact that I just had to carry Pidge’s shit to Jupiter,” Shiro replies, directing the tail end of his sentence towards Pidge with joking hostility. Other than a small, devilish smile, Pidge makes no sign of acknowledgement towards Shiro’s complaint.

“You and Matt are boating co-heads, yeah?” Hunk asks, shaking his head at Matt as he squats on the dock and sticks his leg out, trying to poke Lance with his toe.

“One sec,” Shiro replies, holding a finger up at Hunk, “hey, Matty, do you have your phone on you?”

“Oh, um, not right now. Why? Do you need it?”

“Nah, I was just wondering,” Shiro replies nonchalantly. Before Matt can suspect anything, Shiro sets a foot on the centre of his back and shoves him into the lake.

Matt falls with the grace of a potato rolling down the stairs, flailing and shrieking as he tumbles off the dock and into the water. 

“Goddamn it, Shiro!” he hollers, grabbing Shiro around the back of his knee and yanking him down. Shiro yells, throwing his right arm up to keep it out of the water as he struggles to land on his feet.

“Dammit, Matty, be careful,” he huffs, sounding more amused than annoyed as he presses the pin near his elbow and slides off his arm. “Hunk, can you keep that dry for me?” He tugs the liner off gently and hands it up to Hunk as well. Hunk just nods dutifully and heads down the dock to set Shiro’s prosthetics on dry land.

“Oh, shit, Shiro, I’m so sorry, I forgot that the metal one can’t go in water, oh my god, I’m-”

“Hey, hey, hey, Matty, chill, it’s okay,” Shiro chuckles, patting Matt’s back with his left hand, “no harm, no foul; it didn’t get wet. And I have a backup, so even if it did, I’d be fine.”

“But it’s-”

“It’s covered by my insurance,” Shiro says softly, cracking a reassuring half-smile. Matt visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping out of their tight position.

“Um, hey, do any of you guys know the kid with the mullet walking around looking confused?” Hunk asks softly as he joins them again, pointing down the dock and towards the road near the top of the stairs. 

“It is Keith?” Matt asks, looking at Shiro.

“It sounds like Keith,” Shiro replies with an eye roll.

“Who’s Keith?” Pidge and Lance demand in unison. Lance is standing now, cradling Pidge in his arms like a baby to keep her out of the water.

“Mystery Brogane,” Matt replies. Lance and Pidge’s jaws drop simultaneously, and it’s so comical that Hunk nearly falls off the dock laughing.

“No way,” Lance breathes, “bring him down here! Right now! That guy’s either my best friend or my sworn nemesis now!”

“What? Why?” Shiro asks, cocking his brow.

“We’re both second oldest,” Lance explains, “but he’s red and I’m blue.”

“What?” Matt shrieks, “they put red and blue in the same age group? And gender? You’re going to be at each other’s throats all session!”

Ever since the camp was founded in 1932, the red and blue team have been rivals. Oldest boys traditionally take red, and oldest girls traditionally take blue, but it’s been switched up over the past few years to try and avoid the hostility. The fighting is still bitter and the competition is still intense, no matter the age group or gender. Lance prides himself on being a blue team member for the past nine years; he likes being the centre of attention, right in the thick of the warfare.

“It’s brutal, isn’t it!” Lance yells in agreement, “so I’m hoping this Keith guy doesn’t give me any reason to hate him. I’ll sic my kids on his cabin if he crosses me. No offence, Shiro.”

“None taken,” Shiro says with a shrug. He cups his hands around his mouth, hollering, “Ke-ith!”

After a moment, a boy in all black appears at the top of the stairs. He’s too far away for Lance to get a good look.

“Come down here!” Shiro shouts. Keith cocks his head but still starts traversing the uneven steps to the beach.

“What do you want, Shiro?” Keith yells when he’s near enough, looking hesitant to come down onto the dock.

“Meet my friends!” Shiro replies, “and take off your shoes before walking on the dock!”

Keith cocks his head a little, like he’s deliberating, and Lance frowns.

“Is he antisocial?” he asks without thinking. Pidge clasps a hand over his mouth.

“Lance!” she whisper-shouts, “you can’t just ask that about someone!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance replies, his ears flushing pink.

“It’s cool, I don’t think he'd mind,” Shiro chuckles, “and he’s just a bit shy with new people, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay, understandable,” Lance says, watching intently as Keith makes his way down the dock. He walks with uncertainty, as if he’s prepared to turn back around at any moment.

“Hello!” Hunk says cheerily and warmly, like the one-man welcoming committee he is.

“Uh, hi,” Keith says, so softly it’s almost a whisper, punctuating it with an awkward little wave. His eyes flick around at the group and he bites his lip, curling his shoulders in and shrinking down a little.

“Nice to meet you,” Lance say, plastering on his signature smile and stepping forward, holding Pidge up on one arm as he extends a hand. Keith takes it, and his grip is light and unsteady.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“We’re doing the same age group, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me,” Lance declares, “so I hope we can be great friends.”

“Yeah, I- I hope so too,” Keith replies, choking a little. His eyes are wide and shocked, Lance’s statement smacking him across the face.

“Our friendship will have to withstand the purple war, which would be a true feat,” Lance chuckles. He’s testing the waters, seeing if Keith’s reliable and trustworthy because, damn, is he cute.

“The purple war?” Keith asks, nose crinkling.

_“Cute!”_ Lance’s mind screams even as he explains: “the rivalry between the blue and red cabins. It’s been going on for generations.”

A flicker of something akin to fire brightens Keith’s grey eyes, intriguing Lance. Keith grips Lance’s hand even harder. “A rivalry, huh?”

“That’s what I said,” Lance replies with a demonic smirk, setting Pidge down to step even closer. He yanks Keith’s hand, forcing him to crouch, and gets up in his space. He’s hoping to intimidate Keith with a little gay chicken, but Keith doesn’t even flinch.

“Well, Lance,” Keith whispers, jerking Lance even closer. Lance can feel Keith’s breath on his face, and he’s so close that his vision starts to blur, but he keeps his jaw set and his eyes determined as Keith continues, “I really don’t like to lose.

“Nor do I,” Lance declares, his voice a challenge, “so I guess we’ll have to see who wins.”

“I guess we will,” Keith repeats, moving closer for just just a split second. Lance’s mind starts going empty, almost completely convinced that Keith’s going to kiss him, when Keith lets go, straightens up, and starts walking away.

“Whoa,” Hunk breathes, but Lance barely hears him.

The battle between red and blue is going to be particularly bitter this year, Lance can feel it. It’ll be a wicked fight, a brawl for the ages, and he and Keith are going to be right in the thick of it. They’ll match each other step for step in this war, Lance knows. He could feel Keith’s fighting spirit through his words, and he knows that they’ll be at each other’s throats even more that the kids will be. It’s going to be rough.

Lance can’t wait.

Somewhere behind him, Matt whispers, “I thought he was shy around strangers.”


	2. Consider Yourself

“Good morning, lovely boys and Pidge!”

“Ugh, oh my fucking shit, what fucking time is it?”

“Just past seven, Pidgie!”

“Allura, what the _fuck-”_

Allura yanks the curtains to Jupiter’s front window open, letting summer sunlight stream in to the cabin and across its inhabitants' sleeping bodies. Shiro lets out a loud groan of protest, and Pidge yelps.

“I can’t believe that you guys are still doing this,” Allura chuckles, flopping down on Shiro’s mattress. Shiro just whines and shuffles over, making enough space for her to sit.

It’s been a tradition for all of them to spend the first night up at camp in Pidge’s cabin, they’ve been doing it for the past five years. They drag all of the mattresses down onto the floor and spread their sleeping bags across them and just talk about their year and their hopes for camp and their plans for the next year as it rolls around, and they continue to talk until someone falls asleep. It’s usually Shiro who crashes first, at around three a.m. Allura usually joins them, and they’d even invited Keith this year, but he’d refused.

“It’s a tradition, Allura,” Hunk mumbles sleepily, “it’s family bonding.”

“Which you weren't here to partake in,” Matt murmurs into his pillow begrudgingly. Allura laughs.

“I’m sorry,” she says, amused but earnest, “Coran and I had to wait for the craft cabin supplies; they were late to deliver and we had to drive them up.”

“That’s no excuse,” Matt grumbles, rolling off of his mattress and onto Shiro’s. He curls up against Shiro’s ribcage and Shiro whines again, now firmly trapped between Matt and Allura.

“Speaking of family, where’s Lance?” Allura asks, looking over the group with suspicion. “He _is_ here this year, right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, it’s Lance,” Pidge declares, “you’d have to cut off his head to keep him away from camp.”

“I think his headless body would show up, actually,” Matt adds, “just to scare the everliving shit out of everyone.”

“But anyway,” Hunk interrupts, “he went for a run.”

“What the fuck?” Pidge grumbles, “why the hell would he want to do that?”

“Watch your fucking language, Pidge,” Shiro growls.

“Oh, shove it up your ass, Shiro,” Pidge mutters in return.

“Do you know when Mr. Holt starts serving breakfast?” Hunk wonders, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face against his pillow.

“An hour ago,” Allura replies, chuckling at Hunk’s disappointed whine. “Don’t worry, he told me that the kitchen is open.”

 

Lance has been up all night, wrapped up in his thoughts. And what has he been thinking about, his kids? No. The next eight weeks at camp? Not that, either. He’s been thinking about Shiro’s hot brother.

“It’s so not fair,” he huffs under his breath, his pace slowing as he jogs down the hill and away from Jupiter. “It’s not fair that a face like that is being wasted on a boy like him. His stupid emo aesthetic doesn’t do anything for those eyes. And his haircut makes him look dumb. I bet he doesn’t even exfoliate, he’s so dusty.”

Lance’s heart has been pounding ever since Keith had taken him by the hand, the challenge in his voice exciting Lance to no end.

“That fucking asshole probably thinks he’s too good for us, too!” he whispers angrily, “Pidge invited him to the sleepover and he didn’t even come! What a prick.” He slows to a walk, catching his breath and stretching his legs out as he moves, enjoying the cool air coming off the lake. Eight weeks here is like eight weeks in paradise.

Aside from Keith.

“I’m going to show him,” Lance declares to himself, “I’m gonna fucking show him that you don’t mess with the blue team. You don’t fucking test us; blue wave’s gonna crash all over your head.” He stretches his arms up, bending his elbow behind his head and rolling his shoulder as he walks towards the field. He’s going to jog up the main hill when he gets to it, and then do sprints down the road to the parking lot, but he just wants to walk for now.

“Wait,” he whispers, “that’s Paint Pot. And, you know, it wouldn’t do any harm if I were to check up on the new guy, now would it?” And it’s decided, Lance is going to be creepy as fuck. He tiptoes towards the cabin with hilariously exaggerated movements, approaching around the side towards one of the windows. He grabs the windowsill, hauling himself up on straight arms and leaning forward, hitting his nose against the glass.

“Ow, fuck, fuck, shit,” he grumbles, glancing into the cabin in alarm, “did I wake him?”

To Lance’s relief, Keith didn’t even stir. He’s sleeping like the dead under the opposite window, on his stomach with his arms wrapped under his pillow, and he’s shirtless.

And, boy, is he hot.

The light from the window above him streams over Keith’s back, casting shadows across his skin where he lies on top of his sleeping bag. His skin is smooth and it looks like it’d be soft and he’s slim but not sharp and he looks like he’d be lovely to hug, all curves and soft edges. The lines of his back and ribcage flow into a slim waist and a defined jut of hips gives way for a firm swell of ass, graceful and streamlined and ever so elegant. Lance is a self-declared Ass Man, and he’ll be the first to admit that Keith is packing. 

“Oh, god, okay, no, no, that’s enough,” Lance says, lowering himself from the windowsill, “that is enough homosexuality for me today.” Once his feet are on the ground, he’s running again, up the hill and away from Paint Pot.

Lance is no stranger to liking guys; he’s identified as bisexual since his freshman year of high school. Hunk has even described him as “an awful fiend who hits on everything that moves,” which Lance had chosen to take as a compliment. He thinks guys are great, particularly smaller ones with soft bodies and pretty eyes and great butts. But Keith? No. No way in fucking hell. See, Lance likes fun, happy people, not angry, irritable emos like Keith. He likes people who are as bubbly and bright and sociable, like himself.

Keith may have the looks, but Lance could never fall for his attitude.

That still doesn’t stop him from imagining how soft and smooth that skin would be under his fingertips, easily bruised around his hips if Lance were to grip too hard. It doesn’t stop him from thinking about those grey-violet eyes lit up with laughter, or half-lidded in the early hours of the morning, accenting messy hair and a rosy pink flush. And it definitely doesn’t stop him from picturing the smooth curve of Keith’s ass above gorgeous, thick thighs; thighs that Lance would love to settle between…

“Okay, okay, enough! That is enough!” Lance yelps aloud, shaking his head as though to clear out the thoughts, “Keith is not hot! And, even if he were hot, I don’t want to touch him. Nope, no way, never.” 

Lance likes guys, that much is true. He likes guys a lot.

Just not Keith. It’s far too unrealistic and out of character for him to like Keith, there’s no way he could ever do it. For starters, Keith is the human equivalent of a grey, dreary raincloud while Lance is like a sunny breeze, they just aren’t compatible at all. And Keith is Shiro’s little brother; crossing Shiro in any way is not something that Lance wants to do. He quite enjoys his life, thank you very much. Plus, Keith fucking hates him, Lance can tell by the way Keith had challenged him yesterday. There’s no hope for Lance’s stupid little attraction.

“Distraction, distraction, distraction,” Lance whispers to himself as he slows to a jog, “let’s find something, or someone, else to think about. Like Matt, for instance? He’s toned up a bit this year.”

Even as he says it, Lance knows he’s lying to himself. He’s going to have a stupid, shitty crush on Keith for the entire eight weeks, and he’s not looking forward to it.

Also, who was he kidding? He could never be into Matt, that’s just gross.

 

“Who the _fuck_ does that McClain kid think he is?” Keith mutters to himself in the bathroom mirror, scrubbing his teeth with too much ferocity. He’ll wear them out completely if he keeps taking his anger out on them, he knows, and it’s not like he wants to live a toothless life, it’s just a habit.

Lance has been grinding his gears since yesterday at the beach, and he hasn’t even seen the kid.

It had been the look in his eyes, the shitty, all-knowing, _‘we’re going to fuck in the storage shed before session one is over’_ kind of look, and it made Keith want to kick his ass. Starting challenges and being aggressive and just generally acting like an asshole towards everyone is Keith’s forte, he’s not about to let some skinny kid take it away from him at the drop of a shirt. 

He’s going to fight McClain for all he’s got, right till the end of the road, and if one of them dies, well, he’s just going to hope it’s not himself.

The only thing keeping him from tearing Lance’s throat out and eating it right the fuck now is, well, the law… But there’s something else to it, too, and Keith can’t quite place it.

When Lance had stared at him, so close that Keith could feel his breath on his face, it had felt like he was on fire. Like Lance has struck a match against his skin or shoved a firework up his ass.

Well, maybe not the second one.

There was a heat there, though. Something that Keith couldn’t describe, something that dried up his throat and pounded his heart and made him want to _fight_ , and to work and to earn and to prove to Lance that he could win, that he was strong enough to flip Lance on his ass and overpower him. He wanted to run, and tear, and climb, and outshine in all aspects that he could.

Keith is a competitive piece of shit, he knows. He likes winning, and he likes watching other people lose. But it’s never been burning, it’s never been violent and aggressive enough to set him on fire from his lungs on outwards. There’s something new here.

Maybe he’s never had a worthy opponent.

But Lance. Well, as annoying as he may be, he’s worthy. More than worthy. He’s a _fighter_ , just like Keith is, and he's going to match Keith every step of the way. He’ll battle Keith tooth and nail to win this “Purple War,” and he won't back down. Or, at least, Keith hopes. He could feel the challenge and pure, hard drive radiating off of Lance in suffocating waves, so he’s pretty sure his assumptions are correct. Lance is worthy to wage this war on Keith.

Keith is still going to come out on top, though. He’s made up his mind, now he's going to see his decision through.

“If fucking McClain thinks I'm going to back down, he's in for another foot up his ass. I’m made of fucking diamond. I’m not gonna scratch for no man, especially not him.”

He spits angrily, using far too much force, and toothpaste froth ricochets off the sink into his face.

“Ugh, dammit! For the love of fuck,” he growls, dragging the back his hand roughly against his cheek. He crams all of his things into his toiletries bag and shoves out of the bathroom, where he runs into none other than Lance McClain, bent outside the bathroom, filling his water bottle at the faucet.

“Speak of the devil,” Keith mutters, hoping to get past Lance without having to converse with him.

“Hmm? I didn't hear… _you,”_ Lance groans, “what are you doing here?”

“Umm… pissing?”

“Well, don’t,” Lance relies, twisting the faucet off and standing, water sloshing from his still-open bottle.”

“What- what am I supposed to do? Hold it for eight weeks?” Keith stutters, bewildered. His hands and shoulders fly up in a confused shrug and the toiletries bag hung around his wrist bounces off his forearm.

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” Lance menaces, capping his water bottle with angry conviction. “Piss on the grass for all I care. Just stay out of my way.” He turns on his heels, throwing his shoulders back as he pounds off the deck and down the stairs of the bathroom.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” Keith calls after him, “what did I even do?”

“You got put on the red team, and then you fucking challenged me. You crossed the goddamn line, Kogane,” Lance replies over his shoulder.

Keith drops his toiletries bag and flops down on the deck next to it. He crosses his legs and sighs. “What the fuck.”

This rivalry is no joke, he’s starting to realize. It’s serious. It’s _life._ It’s not a fun little camp game that he can laugh and joke about and cast aside like it’s unimportant. It’s consuming him, and the kids haven’t even shown up yet. And he wants to win. He wants to win, and he wants to show Lance that he’s strong. He drops his head into his hands.

“What the fuck.”

 

“Alright, everyone!” Alfor hollers with a loud clap, “welcome back to Camp Capulet! For all of out new staff, we welcome you to the team! For everyone returning, it’s nice to see you again! And for Pidge, you’re still not supposed to be here!” The semicircle of counsellors surrounding Alfor all chuckle and Pidge just shrugs happily from where she sits atop Hunk’s shoulders.

“So,”Alfor continues, “if you didn’t know, I’m Alfor, your captain. And, if you didn’t know that, then who hired you, because it sure as hell wasn’t me.” That’s a cue for more laughter. “Any-who, I’m the one to seek if there are any serious issues. This includes cabins and buildings that need to be repaired, severely damaged or missing equipment, missing campers and staff, and severe injuries. Pleasant stuff, huh? But, for most things in camp life, please talk to your senior staff. Step up, seniors, come on, don’t be shy.”

There’s a flurry of motion and people step out of the semicircle to stand next to Alfor, lining up automatically.

“Meet your senior staff! These talented people are your section coordinators and activity heads for summer 2017!” Alfor announces, throwing his arms out and gesturing to the people standing next to him. “We’ll start out introductions from the right.”

“Hi, I’m Andrew, and I…”

“Is Coran drama head again this year?” Lance whispers, leaning in towards Hunk. He raises his eyebrows at the redheaded man standing next to Allura, twirling his moustache as he listens to Andrew’s introduction.

“What else would Coran be?” Hunk replies, smiling. Coran is quite the character; loud and eccentric, and the kids love his drama exercises.

“I dunno, I could see Coran as the Jungle head,” Lance jokes, knowing full well that Coran would be horrible at high ropes; he’s deathly afraid of heights. A few years ago, they convinced him to climb the rock wall. He got to the top, turned around to come back down, and wound up crying and refusing to move. He’d been up there for four hours and the fire department had to come get him down. Needless to say, that was the only time Coran climbed in the Jungle.

“Hey, I’m Shiro!”

“And I’m Matt!”

“And we’re your boating co-heads!”

“How long did they spend rehearsing that?” Lance chuckles quietly to Hunk. Pidge leans down to join the conversation.

“They spent five hours practicing over the phone last week,” she says. Lance claps a hand over his own mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Matt and I have been at camp for seventeen years,” Shiro says. There are shocked gasps from some of the new staff.

“We’re dinosaurs, we know, don’t remind us,” Matt laughs, “but anyway, we’ve been coming for seventeen years, and we’ve been on staff for five of those years.”

“Like most of you, we spent our first three years as counsellors,” Shiro continues, “and last year, I upgraded to section coordinator for middle boys.”

“I was section coordinator for youngest boys,” Matt adds.

“And now, we’re boating heads, teaching your campers not to put their paddles in the sand,” Shiro finishes cheerfully, beaming at the rest of the staff.

“And not to pee in their kayaks!” Matt shouts in addition, Shiro clapping a hand over his mouth just slightly too late to cut off his sentence. Matt raises his arms triumphantly as Shiro drags him back in line, and the gathered staff laugh at the display.

“They’re smarter than they seem, I swear,” Alfor jokes as Matt fights his way out of Shiro’s arms. Another wave of laughter goes around. “Okay, continue.”

“Hi, I’m Allura.”

“She looks so good this year!” Lance breathes, beaming. Hunk shifts his hand from Pidge’s calf to smack him upside the head. “Hey! It was a compliment.”

“Yeah, sure it was,” Hunk deadpans.

“It was! Like, come on, look at how nice her hair is!” 

“Okay, okay, shut up and listen.”

“Like Matt and Shiro, I’ve been coming for seventeen years,” she says, pausing for reaction, “I’m going to take your shocked gasps as compliments, it means I look younger than I am.” There’s another pause as she lets people laugh. “And, this year, I’ll be your crafts head.”

“Whoo!” Lance cheers, earning more laughs. Allura chuckles and rolls her eyes.

“Thank you, Lance,” Allura snickers, “that’s Lance, by the way, everyone.” 

Lance beams and waves, “Lance McClain, third year, blue team. Now,” he bows and gestures back to Allura, “take it away, sweetheart.”

“You’re disgusting,” Allura replies sarcastically as Lance makes an offended face, “moving on, this is my second year as crafts head, and I’ll be spending most of my time in Kaleidoscope. Prepare for your campers to get glittery and colourful under my watch, and that’s all I’m gonna say.” She bows and Coran steps forward immediately.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Coran, your friendly neighbourhood drama head! I’ve been going to this camp for- drumroll please…” he waits for a moment as the rest of the staff drums on their legs, “thirty-seven years. That’s right,- pause for dramatic effect- I am twice as old as some of you. Please don’t mention it, it’s a sensitive subject.”

“D’aww, Coran, you don’t look a day over twenty,” Hunk calls. Coran presses one hand to his chest and one to his forehead, pretending to swoon at the compliment.

“Thank you, my boy,” he replies, “oh! That lovely young man is Hunk, if you were unaware. Hunk, say hello!”

“Hi, everyone, I’m Hunk! I’m a third year counsellor, and I’ll be on yellow this year!” he says cheerily, beaming. “Back to you, Coran.”

Coran chuckles, shaking his head happily, “anyways, I’ve been head of theatre and drama for the past fifteen years, and I started when I was fifth year staff. I’m coordinating all three camp plays, quite a few choice activities, and some fun staff nights over changeover and on off days. I also know this camp like the back of my moustache, so if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come ask me.”

“He’s also my little brother,” Alfor adds, throwing an arm over Coran’s shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s even older than me!” Coran goads, throwing his elbow back and shoving Alfor’s arm away.

“Rude, Coran,” Alfor chuckles, rubbing the spot on his ribs where Coran had elbowed him.

“Annoying, Alfor,” Coran retaliates, resting his weight on his back leg and crossing his arms. He dramatically turns away from Alfor, pretending to flip his moustache.

“And that’s it for senior staff!” Alfor yells, shoving past Coran to stand in front of the staff line. Coran stands behind him and mocks him as he talks, earning giggles from the rest of the staff. “Ignore my asshole brother,” Alfor deadpans, “and may this year’s new staff step forwards? You don’t have to come to the front, just separate yourself from the rest of the group, okay? Just come forward and state your name, cabin, and team; we’ll start from the left.”

There’s another flurry of motion as the first years step forward, smoothing out their clothing, trying to make good impressions. Lance smiles.

“The first years look nice this year,” he whispers to Hunk. Hunk nods, careful not to displace Pidge from her spot on his shoulders. They comment back and forth as the new staff introduce themselves.

“I’m Pidge-”

“Pidge, you’re not on staff yet,” Shiro interrupts, shaking his head to hide his amused smile.

“Shut up, Shiro, I almost got away with it,” Pidge replies, not sounding bothered at all. She rests her chin on the top of Hunk’s head.

“I’m Keith, I’m in Minnehaha, and I’ll be on red this year,” Keith says softly from somewhere to Lance’s left, as though he didn’t want anyone to hear him. Lance snarls and rolls his eyes.

“He-ey, man, Minnehaha buddies,” one of the other guys hollers. His name is David, if Lance’s memory proves right. Keith’s lips press together and he wrenches them into a smile, seeming nearly terrified.

Lance wants to hit him.

“What the fuck is up with that guy? I’m gonna kill him.”

“No the hell you are not,” Hunk replies sternly, grabbing Lance’s collar to keep him firmly in place. Lance growls, straining a little. “Careful, Lance! If you jostle me, you jostle Pidge, and she might fall.”

“Well that’s her fault; why’s she sitting on you, anyways?” Lance mutters, crossing his arms and pouting childishly. Pidge reaches down, grabs a fistful of his hair, and yanks.

Stop,” Hunk menaces, “both of you, you disgusting devil children.”

“Sorry, Hunk,” Lance and Pidge whisper in unison.

“That’s the correct response,” Hunk says, “now, Lance, you don’t have to like Keith, but you can’t hit him, okay?”

“Shut up, Hunk, I’m not five,” Lance grumbles, still pouting, “stop treating me like one of your campers.”

“If you’re going to keep acting like one of my campers, I’m going to keep treating you like one of my campers,” Hunk replies, raising his eyebrow sternly, “leave Keith alone. If he bothers you so much, just don’t think about him anymore.”

“But Hunk,” Lance whines, drawing out his syllables.

“No buts, Lance.”

“Hunk…”

“Nope.

“The buses will be here in around ten minutes!” Alfor shouts, effectively ending their argument and scaring the shit out of half the new staff. It gives Lance a sick sense of satisfaction to watch Keith jump in shock.

“Let’s hit the road!” Alfor continues to instruct at a loud volume, “if you’re a cabin leader, find your partners and stand with them! We’re rolling out!”

“Well, Hunk, Pidge,” Lance says gravely, setting one hand on Hunk’s shoulder and the other on Pidge’s thigh, “it’s been lovely catching up with you guys. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Stay strong, buddy,” Pidge breathes at the same time as Hunk says, “you’re not dying, Lance.”

“Hunk. The Purple War. Caring for eleven fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds. Does that not sound like death to you? Does it not, Hunk?” Lance cries melodramatically, shaking Hunk’s shoulders. Pidge screams as she’s jostled.

“No!” She cries, “you know what death sounds like? You almost killing me just now!”

“Whoops, sorry, Pidge,” Lance replies sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, “umm, how about them buses? Should we go greet them?”

“Yes, we should,” Hunk declares with dad-like authority, “good idea, Lance, I’m proud of you.”

Lance rolls his eyes, “thanks, dad.”

“Don’t call me- ugh, fine, let’s just go,” Hunk grumbles, shaking his head. Lance just beams at him.

“Um, hi!” someone says from behind Lance, and Lance spins around to greet them. It’s a small teenage boy, a few years younger than Lance, and Lance assumes that he's a first year counsellor.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” he asks cheerfully, cocking his head. The boy bites his lip nervously and Lance smiles. He remembers how scary it was to be a first year.

“Are you- uh- Lance? Lance McClain?”

“In the flesh!” Lance replies, “why?”

“Well, I’m, umm, I’m Jack, your-”

“Oh, yeah!” Lance interrupts. He recognizes the name from his camp information sheets, but he’s never met the kid before, “yeah, you’re my AC! Hey, nice to meet you, man!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Jack replies softly, seeming a little shocked by Lance’s reaction.

Hunk chuckles from where he still stands beside them, and Pidge leans over his head and taps Jack’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Uh, what?”

“Pidge,” Hunk scolds softly, “don't scare Lance’s AC. And get off, my shoulders hurt.”

“No, they don’t,” Pidge protests halfheartedly, pouting. Hunk just grumbles, leaning forwards she can set her feet on the ground.

“C’mon, get off, you gremlin goblin child. We have to go greet the buses, we’re falling behind. And I still have to go find Michael and Liam.”

“Who?” Pidge asks, adjusting her shorts. She shakes her legs out a little and Hunk rubs his shoulders.

“My co-counsellors,” Hunk replies, eyes scanning the Point. There are a few remaining stragglers scattered about, but most have started down towards the parking lot.

“Hey, guys,” Lance says, “I think Jack and I are gonna head down now.” He glances at Jack, who nods.

“Bye, Lance!” Pidge cries, launching herself into his arms. He chuckles, spinning her around.

“It’s not like this is the last time you’re ever gonna see me, Pidgie, we eat the same meals, and I think I’m teaching swimming lessons for your cabin.”

Appeased, Pidge releases her death grip on Lance and Hunk takes her place.

“Good luck, buddy! Try not to kill Keith!” he cheers sunnily.

Lance laughs loudly, patting Hunk’s back. “Thanks, buddy! Good luck with your six-year olds!” They pat each other’s backs and laugh for a couple more seconds before Hunk pulls back, setting his hands firmly on Lance’s shoulders.

“I am serious, though,” he says gravely, “just leave Keith alone. Don’t let him get to you, okay?”

“Okay, Hunk. I’ve got it,” Lance replies, matching Hunk’s seriousness, “thanks. Uh, Jack? You good to go?”

Jack nods, and Lance turns on his heel and starts walking away from Hunk and Pidge. He raises his hand and waves lazily over his shoulder, and Hunk and Pidge can tell that he’s doing it on purpose. If he were to turn around now, he’d come sprinting right back. Any of them would.

That’s always been the worst part of camp for Pidge. For the past three years, Hunk and Lance have been on staff while she’s been a camper, so their schedules don’t collide much. Usually she has the most fun over changeover, when none of them have any plans or routines and they’re free to just hang out. Lance is on swimming and drama staff, though, and Hunk is on high ropes and crafts, so she’ll still get to see them, just not as much as she’d like.

“Alright, Pidgie,” Hunk says, wrapping his arms tightly around Pidge’s ribcage and hoisting her up in the air. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Hunky,” Pidge replies, holding around Hunk’s neck. Her feet are at least two feet off the ground; she doesn’t care. Hunk’s hugs are always the best. He lets go far too soon, setting Pidge back on her feet, and she pouts.

“Don’t do that,” Hunk whines, “you look like Lance.”

“I’m guilt-tripping you,” Pidge mutters in response, crossing her arms over her legs, “feel guilty.”

“Pidge, I’m sorry,” Hunk replies, patting her head and ruining her hair, “I’ve got to go find my co-staff. I’m cabin head this year, I’m responsible for things.”

“Have fun,” Pidge grumbles out of the corner of her mouth, looking like an insolent toddler, “and do well.”

“You could say that with a little more pizzazz, you know?” Hunk teases, squeezing her shoulder as he walks past, “I’ll see you soon, Pidge. You have fun too, okay?” 

And then he goes.

It’s always harder to find time with Hunk than it is with Lance. Lance’s kids are teenagers, they’re independent, they hardly want to be cared for anymore, so Lance has a lot more free time. Hunk, however, is working with kids as young as five, and they’re all attached to him at the hip. He can hardly get away from them to spend time with her, and she understands why. They’re his responsibility, their parents pay him money to look after them, but it’s still annoying. And she can’t wait until she’s on staff next year, when they can spend their days off together and hang out in each others’ cabins after curfew and spend their rest hours in the staff lounge. She just can’t wait until they can be together again; it feels weird that they aren’t.

It feels like she’s getting left behind, or like Lance and Hunk have outgrown her. It feels like she’s not part of the team anymore. And she knows that it’s stupid, that Lance and Hunk would never abandon her, but it still hurts.

“You should honestly be on staff this year,” Shiro says, coming up behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder, “no one knows this camp as well as you do!”

“Tell Alfor that,” she replies, smiling up at him. Matt pops up behind his shoulder, brotherly concern on his face.

“What’s up, Pidge? You’re usually the first one to run and greet the buses.”

“Eh,” she says nonchalantly, “I didn’t want to go alone.”

“We’ll walk you,” Shiro offers, bending his elbow. Pidge beams, raising her arm to loop it through his.

“Hey, hands off my sister,” Matt protests sarcastically, wrapping Pidge’s free arm around his own elbow. They walk in an awkward line towards the parking lot, and Pidge’s smile is blinding.

“Stop with the Holt Smile,” Shiro reprimands, not actually doing anything to get her to stop. Pidge just smiles even wider, raising her head to flash it at Shiro. He groans and covers his eyes.

It feels weird to be the only camper in her camp family, and it’s hard for her to choke down the idea that she’s being left behind. But, in one year exactly, she’ll be on equal ground with the rest of them. For now, she just grips tighter around Matt and Shiro’s arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Sorry it's been so long since I last uploaded!! I actually just got back from camp (the one this fic is based off!!), and the drafts that I left for my friend to upload got messed up somehow. I'll try to figure out the problem and fix it but, in the meantime, here's a double chapter!! Thanks for sticking with this fic and I!!


	3. One Tin Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm garbage!!  
> I'm so, so sorry that my updates have been so slow. I've been in and out of camps this summer and I haven't really had much access to Wi-Fi. However, now that I'm back at home, I'll try to update way, WAY more frequently! Thanks for sticking with me!!

“He-ey everyone! Welcome to Beehive! I’m Lance, and this is Jack, and we’re your counsellors this year!” Lance all but yells, throwing his arms up and gesturing to the cabin. “So, is anyone here a first time camper?”

Three of the kids raise their hands, and Lance smiles warmly at them.

“Oh, nice, alright,” Lance continues, “well, I’m sure you’ll get the swing of it soon. Just keep an open mind, okay? And, for the rest of you, I hope this is your best year at camp yet!” Cheers erupt throughout the cabin and Lance beams. It’s going to be a good year.

“So, I’m sure you all know that we’re on the blue team this year,” Alex says, “I hope you all brought your blue!” There’s more cheering, a couple of the boys raising their wrists to reveal blue bandanas.

“Nice, nice, nice,” Lance comments, “but I’ve actually got to talk to you guys about that. I hate to be the voice of reason, I know, I know. But for real, Captain is cracking down on the Purple War this year-”

“Um, Lance?” one of the kids interrupts, “what’s the Purple War?”

“It’s a rivalry between the blue and red teams, so we’re right in the middle of it,” Lance explains, “and it’s been around for a long time. But Alfor is getting serious about the rules this year, it’s no joke. Any camper caught in any sort of argument or verbal battle will have their parents contacted, lose privileges for three days, and might be excluded from the Colour Battle-”

“No, what the hell! They can’t do that!” another kid cries out, face twisting in annoyance.

“Watch your language,” Lance barks, “and yes, they can. So don’t taunt the red team kids this year. And any camper caught physically fighting will get sent home immediately; no hearing, no exceptions, no nothing. Have we got that?”

There are a lot of eager nods from the newer or calmer kids in the cabin, and Lance is glad that he’ll have a relatively chill and easy cabin this year. There are also a few angry huffs and indignant stomps from others, the rebellious kids that always give Lance a hard time, fighting against all of his directions. Lance snarls and crosses his arms over his chest. A little intimidation never hurt anyone, right?

“Have we got that?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows at the resistant kids. There are more huffs in response but everyone nods, and Lance’s face shifts from a scowl to a happy smile in the blink of an eye. “Okay, great!”

“Now that you’ve all been briefed on that, we’re going to go meet the rest of the age group!” Jack says happily, trying to diffuse the tense seriousness of the cabin.

“What girls cabins are there?” a kid asks. It’s the same one who’d protested the Purple War restrictions, and Lance side-eyes him distrustfully. There’s always one troublemaker in a cabin, and Lance is pretty sure that it’s this kid.

“Keywadin and Sugema, turquoise and white,” he answers shortly, “and leave the girls alone; there’ll be no romance on my watch.”

Disappointed huffs and whines echo out around the cabin and Lance just shakes his head in disapproval, Jack laughing awkwardly to try and calm the tense atmosphere.

“Lance,” he whispers, “don’t you think you should maybe be, uh, nicer?”

“This is just an act, Jack,” he chuckles, “don’t worry. I’ll give up on it tomorrow, I’m just making sure that they know I’m an authority.”

“Oh, true, okay,” Jack says before addressing the cabin, “we’re leaving now, guys. The men should come around with the luggage while we’re gone, so you can all get settled in later, okay? Follow Lance to the field.”

Lance shoots the kids a thumbs-up, opening the cabin door and stepping out onto the porch. “We ready to go?” The kids shout in response, “okay, good, perfect, then follow me.” He starts off towards the field, the campers following behind like ducks in a row. It’s gonna be a good session.

 

“You nervous, man?” Keith’s co-counsellor, David, asks, bumping his shoulder. Keith nods. 

“Yeah, kinda. I’m not very experienced with kids, you know?”

“Mhmm,” David answers, “I get that. My first year on staff was scary too. But you’ll get used to it soon enough, dude, I promise.”

“Yeah, I guess I will,” Keith murmurs, scratching the back of his neck, “I’ve never really been to camp before, though; this is just really new for me.”

“Wait, you’ve never been to camp?” David screeches in disbelief, his eyebrow shooting up to his hairline.

“Well, I’ve been camping. In like, tents, where you have to carry your canoe and hang your food so you don't get bears. But I’ve never been to a camp like this,” Keith explains, gesticulating wildly to try and get his point across.

“Ah, okay, cool… oh! Dude! A bus!” David cries, pointing down the road. Keith rubs his ear. Is this guy always this loud?

“Yeah…”

“Our cabin should be on bus two, so we’re in luck,” David says, looking at the paper in his hands. “Blue, White, and Turquoise were all on bus one, though, so we’ll be a bit behind. I say we go straight to the field instead of going to Minnehaha first.”

“Uh, okay, sure,” Keith agrees, not really in any position to argue. He hardly understood any of what David said, anyway.

“The bus is pulling in!” David yells, waving maniacally at the vehicle. Keith waves too, extremely self-consciously, and stops after a few seconds.

David sprints up to the door as soon as the bus lurches to a stop, waiting until the bus driver opens it before hopping on. Keith follows behind him, not wanting to be abandoned.

“Hey, everyone! Welcome to Camp Capulet!” David yells. He’s met with loud cheers from the kids. “So, I’m gonna ask that all of you stay seated, your counsellors will come up and call you one by one. First up, Minnehaha. Okay, Jake Petruccelli, Michael Doane, Luke Seeber…” he rattles off the names of the campers and a handful of teenage boys stand up. Keith’s mouth is dry. Most of the kids are taller than him, they look like they’d be stronger than him, and there’s no way that he’ll be able to keep them in control

_“Oh, shit, shit, shit. I won’t be able to do this. I can’t- I can’t fucking- fuck.”_

“Hey, man, you okay?” David asks, patting Keith’s shoulder. Keith jumps, shaking his head to derail his train of thought.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.”

“Ah, sucks, buddy. But anyway, get off the bus, we gotta get to the field,” David instructs, checking his watch, “we’re already ten minutes late.”

Keith jumps to a start, pounding down the steps of the coach bus and onto the sand lot, where he stops to wait for David and the kids.

“Alright, guys, nice to see you all!” David cheers, raising a fist in the air. “Are you all excited for camp?”

There’s screaming and hooting from the boys and Keith jumps. He didn’t expect them to be so loud. Now that he thinks about it, though, what did he expect them to be? Certainly not quiet, that’s for sure.

“It’s great to meet you guys! I’m David, and this is Keith! He’s new, so go easy on him. Also, we’re gonna want to hurry, we’re late. First one to Adventurer field is the winner!”

Keith startles. _“What? Nope, no way, I have no fucking clue where that is!”_ He picks up into a sprint, following behind the kids who darted ahead, and pulls towards the front to gain some semblance of control over the rowdy teenagers.

They run all the way down the road from the parking lot, hanging a right at the dining hall and starting down a path in the woods, and Keith thanks whatever deity is out there that he keeps a good exercise regime. If he wasn’t fit, he’d never be able to survive this. Glancing back over his shoulder, he sees David jogging casually alongside some of the less athletic or new campers, showing them where to go. He whips his head back around, spotting a group of people in the field. Among them lies the devil himself; Lance fucking McClain. 

Keith kicks it into high gear, pulling ahead of all of the campers and slowing to a walk once he gets there. The kids follow suit and, led by Keith, they all saunter onto the field.

“Good going, Kogane,” Lance spits as a greeting when they get there, “your cabin is fifteen minutes late.”

“That’s not our fault,” Keith replies, glad that his voice doesn’t expose all the running that he’s done. He speaks steadily, sounding completely sure of himself. “Our bus pulled up after yours, these kids just got here.”

Lance steps forward, crossing his arms. Keith steps in, too, tossing his head, happy that he decided to leave his hair down. It flips dramatically over his shoulder, adding to the confrontational feeling of the situation. Jack comes up behind Lance’s shoulder and David behind Keith’s, and they’re now in the midst of a full-out stare down. The Minnehaha boys all sit down; no one wants to miss the show.

“You’re late,” Lance growls again. Keith grits his teeth.

“It’s not our fault,” he mutters, “you should have some patience.”

“Well you should have some skill.”

“Okay, okay, boys, calm down,” Allura says, setting a hand on both of their shoulders. It looks peaceful and disarming to the rest of them, but it’s like a death grip. Keith fears for the safety of his arm.

“There’s no need for fighting!” Coran announces, “we’re here to have fun!”

Allura walks directly between them, shoving them back with brutish force that Keith didn’t know she possessed. Lance just winces and rubs his shoulder.

“Hello, second oldest,” she greets the kids as Lance, Keith, and the other staff all sit down by their cabins, “I’m Allura-”

“And I’m Coran!”

“And we’re your senior staff advisors for this year! We’ll be the ones dealing with major conflicts in your age group, and your staff,” she glares at Lance, and then Keith, “will answer to us! We’ll also be joining you guys for the occasional section activity, so expect to be seeing a lot of us!”

“I trust that your counsellors went over the rules with you,” Coran starts. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees Lance smirk smugly at him. Keith just rests his chin on his hand, casually raising his middle finger against his cheek. Lance’s eyes are fire; he looks like he’s a second away from crashing through the campers and throttling Keith. Coran drones on in the background, explaining the camp rules, schedules, and boundaries, and Keith should probably be listening. Annoying Lance is too distracting, though.

Allura fishes through her backpack, pulling out a roll of poster board and four packs of Sharpies, and the kids perk up. “Now, if you’ll please split off into your cabins, you’re gonna make team flags! I’ll come around with the boards and Sharpies, so just gather your cabins and find a place to work.”

“Alright, guys, what should we do for the flag? It’s gotta be cool,” David says as all the kids huddle up. They sit in a circle, a good fifteen feet away from Lance, and Keith can still feel his glare burning into the back of his head.

“The red team is usually associated with fire, right?” one of the kids- Dylan, Keith thinks- suggests, and Keith perks up.

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” he says, and the kids look almost surprised to see him speak. “I like… fire…” he finishes awkwardly, uncomfortable as all of the kids stare at him.

“Wow, Keith, don’t burn the camp down,” David chuckles, slapping his shoulder, “but the fire is a good idea. And for the slogan, I kind of want something that’s gonna annoy McClain.”

“I have an idea,” a camper interjects. He’s got strangely familiar eyes, and thick dark hair with a slight wave, and Keith stares for a bit, trying to place him. 

“Go for it, Leo,” David says.

“Well, the slogan could be ‘Dame Mas Gasolina’. It means ‘give me the gasoline’ in Spanish, and it’s a part of a song that Lance un-ironically loves. I think it could be funny.”

“Wait, Leo, are you kidding?” David asks, “McClain’s favourite song is Gasolina? No way! I think we should do it! All in favour of ‘Dame Mas Gasolina’ as our slogan, put your hands up.”

The entire cabin raises their hands and Keith chuckles, “perfect! And can any of you draw fire? Maybe we could put little emoji fires in the corners of something.” More hands go up, and David and Keith share a smirk.

“You have your ideas, boys? Allura asks, coming up to their circle. She sets down a piece of bright red poster board and a pack of multicoloured Sharpies, smiling as all the boys shout affirmatives at her. “Well, great, I look forward to seeing what you create.”

“Alright, Leo, you’re gonna have to tell me how to spell this,” David laughs, uncapping a silver Sharpie, “‘cause I have no idea what to do.”

Keith looks around the circle of boys, and the ice that’s been in his chest since he pulled up to the camp starts to melt. There’s a friendliness in the faces of all of his campers, as well as in David, and it puts Keith at ease.

Maybe this summer won’t be too bad.

 

“I can’t believe this!” one of the campers yells, “they literally took our flag idea!”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it, it was a coincidence,” Keith insists, the Red team flag curled up under his arm. 

The Blue flag had matched the Red one to a tee, save for the slogan and the pictures in the corners. Where the Red team’s flag read, “Dame Mas Gasolina,” the Blue team’s read, ‘Gonna Crash All Over Your Head,” with little emoji waves in the corners. The campers on both teams had been beyond furious when they noticed the similarities, and the boys were excused from the section meeting early because of the hostility.

“No way was it a coincidence, they were spying on us!” another kid- Luke, if Keith’s memory serves- shouts as he runs past. Keith is following behind, trying to act nonchalant and hoping that the campers don’t notice that he’s lost. They seem to know the way, so it’s not that big a deal if he’s following them.

“Guys, guys, calm down,” Keith replies, “I had my eyes on Blue for the entire time, no one was spying on us.” What is doesn’t add is _“except Lance.”_

Keith had spent the entire forty-five minutes with his eyes locked on the Blue team leader, and Lance had been matching him stare for stare. There’s a coldness in his gaze that looks out of place in his bright blue eyes, and Keith feels almost guilty about it. In some way, he caused that anger and coldness, and he doesn’t even know how. Is it because he plans to put up a fight? Or just because he’s on the Red team?

Is the rivalry always this intense?

He’ll have to ask Shiro. They’re both on patrol, tonight, so he’ll have enough time.

In the meantime, he’s going to match Lance step for step. It’s high time he learns that Keith isn’t anybody’s bitch. He wants to win, and that’s what he’s going to do.

 

“Hunk! Let me in!” Lance hollers, pounding on Paint Pot’s bright purple door. It’s 10:30 now; he’d checked on his kids half an hour ago to make sure they were all going to sleep, and then paced around in Lighthouse for twenty minutes. After deciding that enough was enough, he pulled on his shoes and sprinted down to Hunk’s cabin.

“Lance, what the heck? It’s like, 10:30,” Hunk mumbles, rubbing his eyes as he opens the door. He looks like a sleepy giant and, if Lance wasn’t so high-strung, he might’ve laughed.

“Hunk, I can’t do it. I cannot fucking- Keith’s on duty, right?” Lance abruptly asks, eyes darting around the cabin in alarm.

“Yeah, he’ll be gone till like, three. But make whatever you’re whining about quick, I want to be asleep by 11:30. You have an hour,” Hunk replies, shutting the cabin door behind Lance and clambering back into his bed, patting a space next to him. Lance climbs up.

“I can't fucking handle Keith, Hunk, I cannot fucking do it,” Lance whines, “I tried to take your advice and just ignore him but I couldn’t. He showed up late to the section meeting and I just _snapped._ And then he spent the entire meeting staring at me. I swear, it’s like he wants me to kick his ass!”

“Lance, calm down. I’m serious, you need to chill,” Hunk demands, entirely serious. He wraps his giant hands around Lance’s wrists to hold his arms in place. “Keith’s cabin was on the second bus, which pulled in later than expected. It’s not his fault that Minnehaha was late, and it’s you who’s in the wrong there-”

“But Hunk-”

“But nothing, Lance. You’ve got to learn some patience, okay?” Hunk insists. The words are harsh but he says them softly, with the practiced ease of someone who’s been dealing with Lance’s hissy fits for over a decade. “And, to continue, he was probably staring at you because you were staring at him. You’re not all that subtle when you don't like someone, Lance; I bet you were glaring death at him for the entire meeting. So I’m gonna say it again, okay? Act like he is _not there._ Ignore him. Acknowledge him if he speaks to you, but don’t get into it. Is that okay?”

Lance nods, looking like a scolded child. “Yeah.”

“Alright, good. Anything else?”

“Can you give me a hug?” Lance asks softly, “I’m just- I’m really tired, and it’s been a long day, and I feel like the kids don’t even like me, and I-“

“Aww, Lance, buddy, c’mere,” Hunk replies immediately, wrapping his thick arms around Lance’s shoulders and squeezing. Lance sighs, body slumping against Hunk’s broad chest as his eyes close.

“This session’s gonna suck, Hunk,” he whispers.

“Shh, shh, Lance, shh. You’ll be fine,” Hunk breathes, patting Lance’s back, “you’ll be okay.”

 

“Alright, Minnehaha, time to get up,” Keith yells, clapping his hands. He stands in the cabin doorway, his shouts echoing off the wood floors and ceiling, jolting the sleeping teenagers.

“Shut up, Keith,” one of them- Jake, according to the construction paper sign on his bed frame- mumbles, rolling onto his stomach and folding his pillow over his ears.

“No can do! It’s time to eat, and I’m not allowed to show up to the dining hall if I don’t have you guys. So get up, you have ten minutes to make yourselves decent! And, if you aren’t ready in ten minutes, I don’t care. You can roll up naked, for all it matters, I just want food!” he cries, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself louder. A couple of chuckles sound from the boys and Keith smiles. “Get up, get dressed, and come meet me on the porch.”

Keith steps out of the cabin, gently shutting the door behind him, and sits down on the edge of the porch. He fixes the cuff of his red sweatpants and scratches his ankle, blowing hair out of eyes. It flops back down and he growls, grabbing his hair tie from his wrist and roughly yanking his fringe back, leaving the rest of it loose.

There’s a quiet coughing from somewhere to his right and his head jerks up in time to see Lance heading down the road towards Beehive, just a few metres away from Minnehaha.

“Uh… morning, Keith,” he mutters, raising a hand reluctantly. Keith frowns but waves in return and Lance immediately looks away, as though interacting with Keith had burned him. Keith watches curiously as Lance opens the door to Beehive a crack before lifting his foot and kicking it the rest of the way open, hollering, “It’s time to be awake!” There's a symphony of terrified shrieks from the boys, loud enough for Keith to hear from where he sits, and he covers his smile with his hand.

 _“That was weird,”_ he thinks, _“like, really weird. Lance wanted to kick my entire ass yesterday, and now he’s waving at me? Is he insane? Does he have an evil twin or something?”_

Before Keith can get too into his thoughts, someone sets a foot on his back and shoves.

“Ah, hey, what the-”

“Gotcha, Keith!” one of the kids- damn, Keith really has to start learning their names- exclaims, raising his arms in victory. Keith glares halfheartedly.

“Hey, hey, hey, maybe don't do that,” Keith mutters, “I can send you home, you know.”

“Aww, you wouldn’t, would you?” the kid whines, hopping down from the deck to sit on the edge of it, claiming the spot that Keith had unwillingly vacated.

“Just watch me,” Keith replies, chuckling. “Is anyone else ready, or just you?”

“Oh, Leo’s still in bed.”

“What?!” Keith yelps, leaping up onto the deck and throwing the door open. Subconsciously and instantaneously, he takes a page from Lance’s book. Instead o opening the door normally, he cracks it open a touch and then kicks it the rest of the way, hollering the whole time.

“Get the heck up, Minnehaha!” he shouts, clapping obnoxiously. He get’s right in the faces of some of the boys, shaking them and snapping. “Up, up, up, for Christ’s sake, let’s _go!”_

“Shut up, Keith,” one of the boys complains. Keith wheels around as shouts incoherently, shaking his shoulders.

“ _GET UP!”_ he screeches. The boys who are still in bed pull their pillows around their ears, and Keith just throws his head back and screams. The boys all jolt, wide eyes turning to Keith in shock. Keith smirks.

Within moments, the door flies open, and there Lance stands, his expression both serious and frantic, eyes searching.

“What’s happening in here?” he demands, “who’s hurt?”

All eyes in the cabin turn to Keith, who freezes like a deer in the headlights and shrinks back into himself, cheeks flushing hot and bright.

“Just Keith’s ego!” one of the boys shouts, chuckling and pointing. Keith flushes even more as Lance’s eyes pin him in place.

“Please,” he says flatly, “do not scream unless there is a life-threatening emergency. And boys,” he continues, levelling the entire cabin with his angry gaze, “it is time to get up. _Now.”_

He turns on his heel, yanking the door shut behind him, and Keith may just be imagining the gust of cold wind that blows through him like he’s nothing. There’s a beat of complete silence following Lance’s departure, and then the entire cabin springs into motion.

“I’ll, umm…” Keith mumbles, “umm… meet me on the porch when you’re done.” He escapes as quickly as physically possible, collapsing back against the door when he finally shuts it. He drags a hand through his hair and huffs into the air. The kid he left on the porch stares at him wide-eyed.

“Whoa,” the kid breathes, “Lance is scary, huh?”

Keith sinks down on the edge of the porch, resting his forehead on his hands, palms digging into his eyes, “don’t I know it.”

 

“Finally, can all activity heads, assistant counsellors, and Keith meet at the doctor’s table immediately following the meal? And that’s all from me, chairs up and I hope you all have a good morning!” Alfor says from the front of the dining hall before hanging the mic again. He scratches his head and rolls his shoulders and follows the masses of campers flocking towards the exit.

“Doctor’s table…” Keith whispers to himself, looking around the dining hall nervously. There are half a dozen meetings scattered throughout the giant room, and Keith is completely lost. He has no idea where he’s supposed to be.

“Doctor’s table is over there,” Hunk says softly, coming up behind him. Keith jumps in shock. and Hunk just chuckles, “chill, dude, it’s just me.”

Keith flushes, scratching the back of his neck and letting his hair fall in front of his face. “Um… over there?”

“Yup. Now go quick, you’ll be late for your meeting,” Hunk directs, smacking Keith’s back lightly before turning to head towards his own meeting cluster. Keith smiles at his back for a moment, then takes off on his own path.

“Is everyone here?” Coran asks, taking control of the meeting. There’s a cloud of murmurs and Shiro stretches up, looking over the crowd as though he’s counting.

“Yup,” he replies, “we’re got everyone.”

“Okay, perfect,” Coran says with a clap, “so, all of you applied for staffs to join, and we finally have the completed staff lists! So, if all A.H.s can read out their lists of A.C.s, and I’ll hand out the schedules. All good?”

There are murmurs of agreement as the A.C.s and Keith all look around at each other. Then Shiro pulls out his staff list, grabbing their attention as he reads out who he’ll be working with.

As it turns out, Keith is on high ropes and survival, a pretty good combination for him. He’s not overly keen on any of the boating, and he definitely isn’t the type for drama or crafts, but climbing and camping are both right up his alley. He pockets the schedule that Coran gave to him as he heads back to Paint Pot.

“So, what staffs are you on?” Hunk asks as Keith walks in, folding a sweater and putting it next to his backpack. 

“High ropes and survival,” Keith replies softly, tugging his hair out of its little ponytail and searching around in his duffel bag for his hairbrush. He drags it through his hair roughly a few times, wincing when it gets caught and pulls.

“Whoa, actually?” Hunk asks, “show me your schedule! And stop brushing your hair like that; you’ll yank all of it out.”

Keith follows instructions without really thinking, setting his brush down and pulling his schedule out of his back pocket, handing it to Hunk.

“Hey, we’re on ropes together!” Hunk cries, pointing at the first time slot excitedly, “do you know where the ropes course is? Because I can show you! And I can go over the rules and stuff with you too, if you want.”

Keith flushes a bit, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, that’d be nice,” he murmurs, overwhelmed by Hunk’s enthusiasm. 

“Alright, awesome! Also, you’ll need close-toed shoes for both of your activities, so make sure you’ve got good runners. If you don’t, you can get them over change-over, and if you really need new ones, Alfor goes into town every other day. He can snag some for you,” Hunk says, rambling at a mile a minute and he pulls his own running shoes on. He ties them tightly and springs up, shaking his legs out, and Keith just stares at him. Hunk is a massive ball of energy, and it almost feels like Keith is staring at the sun. He cocks his head.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he blurts out, instantly regretting it. Hunk stops dead in his tracks, sunny expression turning more somber.

“Because I’m a nice person,” he replies with a quiet chuckle, “I may be Lance’s best friend, but I’m not gonna treat you like Lance does. He’s being a real dick, if I can be totally honest. He’ll come around sooner or later, though; he just likes to pick fights. And me? I’m nice to you because this is your first year here, and you’re my roommate, and I generally see no reason to hate you. Don’t give me one, eh?” Hunk laughs, planting a slap on Keith’s shoulder as he heads past him to the door. “Hurry up and get your shoes on, I’ll walk you to the high ropes course.”

 

All in all, Keith’s activities go really well. He gets the hang of belaying and instructing on the ropes course, having spent his first slot following Hunk around the get the feel of it. In survival, he’s a natural, passing on little tips and tricks to make the skills he’s teaching easier to understand and execute.

“Hey, Keith,” Coran says later, as Keith is leaving the dining hall. Keith pauses, waiting for Coran to fall into step with him.

“Hey,” he replies awkwardly, inspecting his shoes as he walks.

“I heard you’re getting along pretty well,” Coran continues, seemingly unbothered by Keith’s uncomfortable demeanour. 

Keith coughs a little, scratching the back of his neck, “umm, I guess?”

“I was talking with Hunk earlier; he seems impressed with you,” Coran rambles on, gesticulating to back up his words, “you know, it’s good that you’re getting along this well. New staff tend to have a harder time getting into the whole camp rhythm, especially staff who are older than first-years. But you seem to be doing well, and you’ve befriended Hunk, which is a more difficult task than you’d think…”

Keith just walks in silence as Coran speaks, adding in wordless exclamations when the conversation seems to call for them. But, despite his silence, he’s truly flattered. It’s nice to hear that he’s succeeding.

Coran winds up walking him all the way back to Paint Pot, all the while talking to him about the wonders of camp and how amazing it is that he’s fitting in so well.

“Oh!” Keith nearly yelps when he realizes that he’s back at his cabin, which isn’t exactly a short distance from the dining hall. “Coran, you really didn’t have to walk me back…”

“Oh, no, it’s no issue!” Coran replies cheerily, brushing Keith’s words away with a carefree wave of his hand. “I’m on my way to Motel, anyway, so you were right in my path.”

“Ah,  alright,” Keith chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging as Coran slaps his shoulder. He walks up the steps to Paint Pot but hesitates before going inside, watching Coran’s back as he crosses the field to Motel. As he’s going, Lance runs up to him.

“Hey, Coran!” he cheers happily. There’s an odd expression in his eyes, one that Keith can’t quite place, but it seems almost like excitement.

“Hello, Lance. Nice day, isn’t it?” Coran says simply, smiling. The brightness in Lance’s eyes fades immediately and Keith’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Ah- yeah. Yeah, a great day,” Lace replies, lips curling up into a smile, seeming more like a grimace. It’s like his face clouds over, the joy radiating from his skin disappearing as though it’s controlled by a switch. He nods once before turning on his heel, jogging in the direction of Lighthouse. Coran simply continues on his way.

And Keith? Keith is just confused.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, feel free to comment!! I absolutely love, love, love getting to read your thoughts and opinions and everything that you want to say!  
> Also, if you want, you can drop some kudos or maybe even subscribe to see more of this story and more from me!!


	4. The Circle Game

****

“And, with a total of twelve found items, the blue team wins tonight’s all-camp game! Congratulations boys; now we’ll all stand, face the west, and sing taps,” Alfor says on the megaphone before turning his back to the camp, facing the shoreline. Behind him, out of sight, the second oldest boy’s cabins exchanges glares; icy and yet fiery enough to sting like a burn. Keith, like his campers, locks eyes on Lance. Lance stares back, catching the movements of Keith’s lips as he mouths “fuck you.” Lance just smirks, lifting a hand to scratch his face, subtlety flipping Keith off in the process. The gesture is hardly noticeable but Keith picks up on it all the same; if looks could kill, Lance would be long gone. Lance just smiles smugly, setting his eyes straight forward even though he can feel Keith’s glare burning through his skin.

“We know you cheated,” Jake says, pushing his red bandana up his forehead to restrain his wild mop of hair. He pushes his chest out, flanked by the rest of the red team as he confronts Brett, one of Lance’s kids. The blue team takes notice of the dispute, quickly rushing to stand behind Brett, and an all-out war is going to break out if someone doesn't stop it.

“We didn’t cheat, you guys just suck.” Brett replies, crossing his arms over his chest. Keith almost laughs at the fifteen year old’s attempt at being threatening as he goes to grab his cabin.

“You guys split up,” Leo argues, coming to the front of the pack to stand with Jake.

“That’s not cheating, it’s strategy,” Richie counters, matching Leo’s stance. 

“It was against the rules!”

“Well, I guess that’s too bad for you. Too little, too late, losers.” 

And, with that, all hell breaks loose.

All nineteen boys start shouting, arguing and swearing at each other, getting in each other’s faces; Keith and David spring into action.

“Boys!” Keith yells, getting to the front of the red team and standing between them and the blue team while David shouts from behind them, struggling to get their attention. The scuffle ends quickly after that, with Lance and Jack rushing in to get their own kids in check.

“Damn it, Keith, keep your cabin under control,” Lance growls through gritted teeth once all of the kids have retreated, turning to get in Keith’s face.

“I could say the same thing to you; it was your kid who started that,” Keith argues. David comes up behind his and Jack backs Lance, looking reluctant to join the argument.

“What are you even taking about? Your kid accused my cabin of cheating,” Lance challenges, glaring. Keith crosses his arms across his chest.

“Because you did cheat,” he replies, “Alfor said, very clearly, that you had to stay in your cabin group; your kids split up.”

“Well that’s not my damn fault.”

“You have to keep your kids under control,” Keith taunts, smirking. Lance’s hands shoot out, grabbing Keith’s shirt.

“Whoa, Lance, lay off him!” David shouts, setting a firm hand on Lance’s chest and shoving him back, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Lance levels a glare at David, letting Keith go before turning sharply on his heel. “Beehive!” he commands, “let’s go.”

The cabin immediately snaps into action, following Lance off the point. Most of them smirk at the red team as they pass, and Keith grits his teeth as he turns back to his cabin.

“Good game, boys,” he praises shakily, struggling to mask his fury. The team whoops, voices giving away their own thinly veiled anger.

 

 

“May David, Keith, Lance, and Jack meet Shiro under the Colour board immediately after the meal? And that’s all for announcements; have a good morning everyone!” Alfor concludes, something Keith can’t quite recognize lurking under his usually cheerful face. The dining hall erupts in a flurry of activity, and Keith follows David to the Colour Board, nervous. The meeting’s not going to be fun, he can tell.

Shiro is perched lightly on the table, chatting with Matt lightheartedly when Keith and David approach. When he catches sight of them, his face changes.

“Hey, Matt, I’ve-”

“Ooh, yup, your senior staff duties!” Matt teases, slapping his shoulder, “I get it. That's why I'm senior staff for the youngest; I’ve never had to deal with any conflicts, and I get to work with Hunk!”

“Fuck you, Matty,” Shiro complains with a sigh. Matt slaps his shoulder again.

“Good luck, my dude,” he chuckles, eyes finding Keith and David, “and good luck, you two! Your asses are about to get rawed!”

“Matt, I don’t think that means what you-”

“Fuck off, Shiro!” Matt giggles as he walks away.

Lance and Jack walk up as Matt leaves, Lance screwing the top of his water bottle on as he approaches, and Shiro huffs a sigh.

“Boys, pardon my French, but _what the fuck was that?”_ He demands, glaring at the four of them. Keith flinches.

“Keith’s kids got in the face of my kids, started pestering them,” Lance replies coldly, staring at his water bottle in disinterest. Jack’s eyes go wide.

“Pardon my French,” David blurts, “but Lance is a bitch ass liar with a weird vendetta against Keith. Sure, our kids got in your kids faces because they cheated, but your kids were so damn rude.”

“So you admit that your kids started it?” Lance taunts. David doesn’t back down.

“I also admit that your kids made it so, so much worse.”

“Damn it, guys,” Shiro interrupts, throwing his arms out, “I don’t give a fuck who cheated or who started the argument between your kids! It’s too late to worry about that shit now. This issue is what happened between Lance and Keith. So, Keith, care to give us your side of the story?”

“What-” Lance protests. Shiro silences him with a finger.

“We’ll get to you in a second, Lance, but I think you’ve done enough talking as of now. Keith?”

“Well, I got between my kids and Lance’s kids to stop the argument, and Lance did the same. But, after the kids had calmed down, Lance pretty much told me that I sucked as a cabin leader, and then grabbed me. David put a stop to it,” Keith says, flailing his hands as though it’ll help him explain.

“Alright, alright,” Shiro replies, “and Lance?”

“I told Keith that he had to watch his kids more closely, and he went off on me because, apparently, my kids cheated. And I grabbed him because I thought he was going to try to smack me or something,” Lance declares, crossing his arms.

“You are such a liar!” David cries, pointing an accusing finger. Jack shuffles where he stands, clearly uncomfortable. Shiro glares.

“I don’t care who’s lying! David and Keith: you two need to learn when to walk away from an argument. And Lance: you need to learn not to start arguments! If you ever set a hand on another staff member again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to defend you, understood?”

Lance nods solemnly, seeming guilty for the first time in the entire ordeal.

“Anything else you guys want to air out?” Shiro asks, looking around. All of the boys stay silent. “Good. You know what, you should all be more like Jack. Got it? Good. You can go,” he dismisses, quickly adding: “And, Lance and Keith: just stay away from each other, okay?”

Neither Lance nor Keith acknowledge him.

 

“You doing alright, Keith?” Hunk asks as Keith enters the cabin. He’s folding his sweater up again, just like yesterday, and Keith lets out a gasping breath.

“Mostly,” he says softly, turning to his own bunk. He strips out of his sweatpants, not even giving a shit that Hunk can see his underwear. Hunk doesn’t seem to give a shit, either.

“I heard about what happened,” Hunk continues gently, “with you and Lance and your cabins. And I’m- uh- I’m real sorry, Keith. Lance isn’t usually like this. I don’t know what got into him. I’ll try and talk it through with him, though; see if I can get him to lay off you.”

“No, no, please, don’t worry about it. This isn’t your fault.”

“It almost is. I pretty much raised Lance,” Hunk chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s been through quite a lot of shit, Keith; try not to hate him too much, okay? For me?”

Keith laughs, cracking a smile against himself. “For you.”

“Thanks, my dude,” Hunk chuckles, “now, we’ve still got an hour before first rotation. You want to go to the Jungle a little early? I can belay you if you want to climb your rage away.”

“I’d… like that a lot, actually,” Keith says, smiling. He yanks his shoes on and slings his backpack over his shoulder, following Hunk out the door.

 

“So, Lance,” Matt says, walking up to him on the swim dock. He’s got a torpedo clutched loosely in one hand, the strap wrapped around his neck and shoulder, and he reaches up to lean heavily on Lance’s shoulder.

“Don’t you have a job?” Lance asks, resting the end of his own torpedo on the dock. He gently tries to shake Matt off with no force or real intent behind the movement.

“Nah, no one’s at boating this rotation. I’m just pretending to lifeguard so Alfor doesn’t make me help the maintenance men. Shiro’s collecting garbage right now,” he says, smirking. Lance rolls his eyes.

“Then do you wanna actually lifeguard for a minute so I can go take a leak?” he asks, “I’m gonna be standing here all morning and most of the afternoon.”

“Isn’t there play rehearsal?” 

“I’m not on theatre today because the water toys are open,” Lance explains, “they needed a couple of really solid lifeguards.”

“They could’a asked me,” Matt says confidently.

“I said, a couple of really solid lifeguards.”

“Oh, fuck you, Lance. Go take your leak. I’ll cover the beach. But be warned, if you aren’t back in five minutes, I’ll leave. The kids can drown.”

“Shut the fuck up, Matthew,” Lance mutters, thrusting his torpedo in Matt’s arms and jogging off towards the bathroom. He does his business, washing his hands hurriedly and footing it back to the beach.

In the few minutes that he’s been away, Matt’s gotten into the water with the kids that Lance is supervising and is playing with them, spinning a little girl around with his hands under her arms, two more kids clinging to his back.

“Matt, you’re going to get me fired,” Lance mutters, picking up his torpedo and resting it on his hip, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“What? I’m watching ‘em,” Matt counters, cuddling the little girl close to his chest before setting her back down in the water and picking up another boy. Lance struggles to suppress his smile as he watches Matt raise the boy in the air before quickly dunking him under as he shrieks with delight.

“Come on, Matthew,” Lance says, “we’re in the middle of a swimming lesson.”

At this, all the kids pout and look up at Lance on the dock, eyes pleading.

“Lance, please! Can we play?” One of them asks, blinking up at him sweetly. 

“We have to do these skill eventually, guys,” he says, resolve cracking already, “shouldn’t we just get them done now?”

“No! We want to play with Matt!”

Lance looks at Matt, cocking his head in a silent question, and Matt nods happily.

“Okay, how about this: Matt is gonna help us with swimming lessons, and if we get through them quickly, we can keep playing. Okay?”

There’s a chorus of cheers from the kids and Matt, and Lance rolls his eyes happily before pointing the kids in the direction of the diving dock. 

“Time to get to work, guys!”

 

“Yo, Matt, you’re senior staff, eh? Sign off on my level sheets,” Lance says, thrusting his papers and pen at Matt’s chest. Matt grumbles and sits up, slapping on a messy signature and setting the papers down on the dock before leaning heavily into Lance’s shoulder.

“I don’t miss teaching swimming lessons,” he sighs, “or being the section coordinator for the little kids. I forgot how exhausting they are.”

“Well, they’ll be at boating soon enough,” Lance replies, chuckling.

“It’s different, though. They harass Shiro at boating, not me. It’s kinda funny, honestly; they grab his arms and make him swing around so they can fly through the air. One time, his arm popped off and he sent the kid flying.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Lance wheezes, suppressing his laughter into his shoulder, “no fucking way.”

“It was hilarious, dude. The kid was so scared when his head popped out of the water and he was holding Shiro’s arm, and the sight of Shiro’s stump scared the rest of them so bad that we had to start treating them all for shock. Apparently they all had nightmares afterwards and now Shiro has to wear long sleeves when we teach the littl’uns.”

“Oh my god,” Lance chortles, suppressing an unattractive snort. Matt nods, rolling his eyes.

“Speaking of Shiro, what’s up with you and his brother?”

Lance scowls despite himself, diverting his gaze into the murky water. He swirls his toe in it. “Nothing.”

“You’re a fucking liar, Lance,” Matt replies flatly, brow raised as he stares at Lance.

“Matt, it’s literally nothing. He just grinds my gears.”

“Grinds your gears enough for you to attack him?”

“I didn’t attack him!” Lance insists, eye twitching in irritation, “listen, Matt. I know you mean well, but I just don’t want to talk about Keith right now, okay?”

Matt stares at him for a minute, eyes soft and yet still inquisitive, reading Lance without judging him, and Lance feels the sudden urge to put on clothes. After a moment and a beat of silence, Matt’s eyes fall away and he shrugs, setting a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say, man,” he says softly as he gets up, “but I’m here for you no matter what.”

 

“Shiro, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Matt pleads, gripping Shiro’s hand tightly as though to halt him in his tracks as Matt walks behind him. “I really, really don’t think we should get involved like this.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Shiro asks, all but dragging Matt along behind him as he heads towards Allura’s cabin.

“We make things even worse! We get one of them kicked out of camp! We get kicked out of camp!” Matt cries, nails digging into the silicone of Shiro’s hand as he all but digs his heels into the dirt. “Please, please, don’t do this. I talked to Lance about it already, and he doesn’t want to have to think about Keith anymore! Shiro, just let them work it out themselves!”

Shiro just chuckles, tugging Matt along with him, and Matt whimpers hopelessly.

“Oh, god, no.”

 

“Hey, Lance, can you help me with something?” Allura asks, knocking softly on Lighthouse’s door and stepping through without being invited.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” he asks, cocking his head at her. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bunk, filing his fingernails.

“Cap asked me to help Shiro organize Locker Room,” she says with a sigh, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, ew. Why do you feel the need to drag me into it?”

“So we can sing Beyonce together until Shiro gets pissed off,” Allura responds, taking Lance’s hands and gently tugging him off his bed. He rolls his eyes at her but lets her tug him out of the cabin and across the field anyway, shoving him through the Locker Room doors.

“So, we gotta make sure all the balls are inflated, and get rid of any broken equipment…”

 

“Yo, Keith, I need a hand.”

“Yeah, yours is missing.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, come with me. We’re cleaning,” Shiro says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. Keith just rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off, do it yourself.”

“Nah. You’re the newbie, you gotta do the annoying shit while I sit on the floor and eat SunChips.”

Keith rolls his eyes again but clambers off his bunk, sighing as he follows Shiro across the field towards Locker Room. He doesn’t question in when Shiro steps in ahead of him and comes out with Allura, gesturing for Keith to enter.

He wishes he never stepped in.

The moment he’s over the threshold, the heavy metal door is slamming behind him, and a key slides into the lock.

“Oh, what the fuck?” he yells, jiggling the door handle, “Shiro, what the hell.”

There’s a dry chuckle behind him. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Keith whirls around and comes face to face with Lance, who stares at him with flat, nearly empty eyes.

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Keith demands, fighting back the urge to snarl at Lance. He just shrugs.

“I work with a bunch of assholes, what was I even expecting?”

“This is just a prank, right?”

“Probably not,” Lance mutters, “they’ve got a plan, and they mean business. Just wait it out, they’ll come let us out eventually.”

Keith growls and spins on his heel, banging his fists against the door angrily.

“Shiro! What the fuck, let us out! You can’t just keep us in here, for fuck’s sake!” he yells, pounding on the door. He kicks it, hitting his toe painfully, and even Lance winces when Keith jerks back and cradles his foot.

“Just give it up, Keith,” he sighs, sitting on the floor. He tips his head back against the wall, resting his arms on his bent knees.

“No! Dammit, Lance, help me!” Keith cries, ramming his fists against the door and shouting so loudly that Lance feels like his head might explode. He stands, coming up beside Keith and grabbing the collar of his shirt in both fists. He yanks Keith forward, jerking him up onto his toes.

“I said _give it up,”_ Lance growls, his eyes cold as stone. Keith gulps, Lance can feel it against the knuckles he’s pressing into Keith’s throat. “Are you gonna shut the fuck up now?” Keith nods obediently and Lance just drops him, barely feeling guilty when Keith stumbles back and falls. He just shakes his head, resuming his seat on the floor and refusing to look at Keith, who shuffles back to sit against the opposite wall.

“You’re really mean, you know,” Keith mumbles against his knee, looking anywhere but at Lance. Lance huffs.

“Shut up.”

“I mean it, you’re an asshole. Like, what did I even do to you? Nothing. I didn’t do anything. This isn’t my fault,” Keith insists, now glaring pointedly. Lance grits his teeth, his hands curling up into fists.

“Shut up, Keith, I’m dead fucking serious,” Lance growls, “just don’t fucking speak to me. Shiro’ll come back in like twenty minutes, and then we can fucking leave.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“Do you not speak English? I said _shut up,”_ Lance yells, throwing his arms up, “I hate you because you’re fucking you! Because I was hoping the blue team could win this year, and you’re fucking testing me! I hate you because you’ve been here for three weeks and ever since, it’s been ‘Keith this, Keith that, Keith is fitting in so well, the kids love him, he’s such a good counsellor, Keith Keith Keith Keith Keith.’ I’m fucking sick of it! Do you know how long I’ve been here for? Fourteen fucking years. And only once have I been told that I’m doing a good job! Only once! In fourteen years! So just leave me the fuck alone! I wish you never even fucking came to camp this year!”

Keith’s teeth tear into his lip as he slumps against the wall, head spinning. His shoulders are raised to his ears and his hands are shaking, and all he wants is to get out of this fucking shed. Lance relaxes back into the wall as well, his head tipping back and hitting it with a crack. He doesn't react to it. Keith just focuses on not crying.

After an eternity, the door swings open. Keith rockets up and stumbles out of the shed, nearly tripping and falling off the deck into the gravel below. Shiro catches him around the chest.

“Hey, Keith, what’s wrong?” he tries to ask. Keith just plants both hands against his chest and tries to shove him back.

“Fuck off!” he screams, shoving Shiro again. Then he turns, sprinting off in the direction of Paint Pot, rubbing his eyes with his hands as he goes. Shiro looks at Matt and Allura, bewildered, and takes off after him.

Lance, unlike Keith, appears completely calm. He steps out of the shed, shutting and locking the door behind him, and lithely hops from the deck into the gravel. He turns towards Lighthouse and starts off, but Matt grabs him by the collar.

“What the hell did you do to Keith?”

“With all due respect, Matt, don’t fucking touch me,” Lance says, shaking Matt off. He doesn’t turn around as he starts to walk away.

“Lance, get back here!” Allura yells. Lance doesn't even look back, instead raising his hand and flipping them off over his shoulder. He keeps walking away, and they don’t follow him.

They don’t get to see when he starts crying.

Lance disappears for hours that night, and the rest of the staff frantically search for him. It’s past one a.m. when Hunk finally finds him bleeding on the bathroom floor, asleep amongst the shards of the mirror he’d punched. 

 

“Hey, Shiro,” Hunk says, opening the door of Juliet with his hip. Lance’s sleeping form is cradled in his arms, knuckles wrapped in gauze and body draped in Hunk’s sweater, and Shiro nearly collapses with relief.

“Oh my god, where was he?” Shiro asks, rushing over. He takes Lance’s hand, inspecting the bandages, “and what happened to him?”

“Knocked himself out destroying things in the bathroom,” Hunk replies softly, shaking his head. “I’ve alerted maintenance and roped off the area, so we’re all good. It’ll be okay by tomorrow. But I have a favour to ask you.”

“Anything,” Shiro replies, eyes somber and alert.

“Break some rules.”

“What?”

“Pidge is going to come down here and take your spot on night patrol: you go spend the night in Paint Pot with Keith. You can sleep in my bed, if you’d like. I’m sleeping in Lighthouse with Lance. And we are not reporting any of this to Alfor, understood?” Hunk asks, his usually kind, gentle face now serious as stone, determined and cold.

“Hunk, it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning, we can’t have Pidge up that late!” Shiro protests, wide-eyed.

“Pidge has been in your cabin, wrapped up in Matt’s sleeping bag and crying, ever since Lance disappeared. It's not like she’d be able to sleep anyway. And she’d only be here for an hour, it’s not like she’s staying forever.”

“Why can’t Matt do it?” 

“Matt’s filing the report for the broken mirror,” Hunk says, “Shiro, listen to me. Right now, Pidge is aching for a job more than anyone else. Right now, Lance in basically unconscious, and I want to go put him to bed. Right now, Matt is busy. Right now, your brother is alone in Paint Pot, doing who knows what. Wait until Pidge gets here, and go. I will not falter on this, do you understand?”

“What if Alfor comes by patrol and Pidge is here?”

“Then she’ll tell him she saw a mouse in the bathroom and she’s holding down the fort while you deal with it. She’s been here for as long as most senior staff, Shiro; he won’t mind that she’s covering for a few minutes. And Matt’s gonna come by at three to walk her back to Jupiter, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Hunk, I don’t…”

Hunk sighs, as through he’s exhausted, and lowers his head. His back shakes and his arms clutch tighter around Lance. “Shiro, listen to me,” he whispers, “we just had to do a silent missing person drill for my best friend. I spent hours worrying that he was dead in the woods somewhere. I am exhausted. Your brother is sitting alone in my cabin, probably panicking, probably crying, probably upset beyond consolation from me. Extenuating circumstances call for rule changes. Now listen to me for one fucking night, and just go. Pidge is coming from across the field, do you see?”

Shiro exhales shakily, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Fine,” he murmurs, “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

Hunk’s exhausted face breaks into a small smile. He looks different than Shiro has ever seen him; beat, stressed beyond relief, lasting hints of terror hidden beneath his dark eyes. His brows are tense and his jaw is harsh, like he’s struggled through a lifetime much longer than what he’s lived, and Shiro starts to wonder what lies beneath Hunk’s bubbly, friendly exterior. Now isn't the time to ask, though; Shiro shakes his head as though he’s physically getting rid of the thought.

Hunk stares at Shiro for a short moment before turning around, hooking his foot in the door to pull it open. He adjusts his grip on Lance and then takes off into the dark, avoiding the shadows cast by Pidge’s flashlight and heading in the opposite direction, as though he’s hoping she won’t see him. Shiro cocks his head and just watches, questions bouncing in his mind. To this point, he thought he understood Hunk. Now, he isn’t so sure.

 

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro says softly as he lets himself in to Paint Pot, slipping though the door and shutting it gently. He hears a muffled whimper from the left side of the room and he spins around, making out Keith’s frame in the dark, curled up in a ball on the floor. 

“Oh, Keith, hey, shh, it’s alright,” he whispers, sitting down next to him. Keith wilts instantly, curling up into Shiro’s side, shaking. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe, you’re okay now,” Shiro coos, running a hand over Keith’s shoulder. “D’you wanna talk?”

“He’s so mean,” Keith sobs, his chin tucked into his chest, muffling his words. “I didn’t mean to… he hates me! He’s so mean, Shiro.”

“Keith, what did he say to you?” Shiro asks quietly, scared to set Keith off when he seems fairly calm, by comparison. Shiro doesn’t want a full-blown panic attack on his hands- at least not now, when he feels like he’s on the verge of one himself.

“He just… he said he wishes I never came to camp, and he’s just… he's upset because he thinks people all like me more than he does, and… Shiro, I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have, because I ruined his summer and I ruined mine and I ruined your night and Allura’s and Matt’s and I just- I just ruin everything, don’t I?”

“Keith, hey, shh. This isn't your fault, okay? I think I know what’s wrong with Lance, and I can talk to him, or Hunk can talk to him, and we can work all this out. Don’t take this all out on yourself, okay?”

“No, no, no, Shiro, you’ll just annoy him if you-”

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts, “it’ll be for his own good. If he keeps behaving like this, he won't be invited back. So just relax, okay? Hunk and I can try to figure this out.”

Keith just nods, sinking further against Shiro, his chest still heaving. Shiro sits in silence, rocking gently, remaining nearly motionless until he’s certain that Keith falls asleep. Then he picks him up, maneuvering him into his sleeping bag and walking across the room to flop into Hunk’s bed. He’s out in seconds, the stress of the night finally doing him in.

 

“Is this the kind of shit you get off on?” Lance asks, clucking his tongue in disapproval. His walk is almost like a strut, tall and confident, nearly dominant, and it makes Keith nervous. He tries to step back, but he’s stuck. He’s frozen, and Lance’s eyes are locked on him; the bright blue is gone, replaced with a black that glints threateningly in the room’s red lighting. In a white t-shirt and tight, tight, black jeans, Lance looks like something else, something unearthly, something sinister. Keith tries to retreat again, but he can’t.

“What’s- what’s going on?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. Lance just smirks, teeth blindingly white and terrifyingly sharp.

“You tell me, Keith. After all, this whole thing is yours,” he chuckles, stepping forward, forward, slowly and menacingly. Keith flinches back, the wall he’s pressed into cold against his bare- bare?- skin. His eyes fly open even wider as he takes in the room frantically. It seems like some type of hell, red light cast over Lance, the space behind him black as pitch. 

“What is happening?” Keith demands again, this time straining forward. He’s stopped dead in his tracks, arms pulling back where they’d been chained to the wall. “What the fuck is going on, Lance? Unchain me, dammit!”

“Unchain yourself,” Lance laughs cruelly, “after all, this is all up to you. This place, your predicament, me: it’s all of your creation. If you hate it so much, get rid of it.” Lance approaches steadily as he speaks, like a predator stalking his prey, and Keith gulps. 

“Lance, stop-”

“Just get rid of it, then!” Lance says, his calm demeanour cracking before he quickly regains it, coming close enough to grab Keith’s hair. He takes a fistful from the back and yanks, dragging Keith’s head back so he’s staring at the ceiling.

“Lance!”

“Get rid of it! Come on, Keith! If it’s so terrible, just get rid of it!” he cries, sinking sharp teeth into Keith’s neck. Keith screams, arms jerking, body convulsing and trembling. “Just get rid of it, Keith!”

There are sharp nails on Keith’s skin, breaking it, piercing him, and he just sobs weakly, breath coming too fast.

“What are you waiting for, Keith?” Lance taunts, nails digging into Keith’s thigh, “get rid of this. You know, if you really want to. Because, from the reaction of your body, I’m not so sure.” Lance smirks against his neck, sharp teeth pressing into his skin and sharp nails dragging up his thighs and over his hips. Keith’s knee lifts up in defence; Lance shoves it back down.

“Lance, stop…” Keith whimpers. Lance smiles, pulling back and flashing his teeth again.

“What was that? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

“Stop. Stop, I said stop, please leave me alone, stop, stop, stop…”

“Sorry, Keith. There’s no ‘stopping’ this; it’s a lot easier than that,” Lance chuckles menacingly, licking his lips, _“just wake up.”_

Keith rockets up in bed with a scream and Shiro is on him instantly, pulling him into his arms and rocking him gently. Keith clutches at his shirt with weak hands, shaking and sobbing. In the dark past Shiro’s shoulders, Keith swears he can still see Lance, chuckling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long!! I got major writers block trying to do this chapter and lost motivation, but I'm trying to get back on track now. Thanks for understanding!!!


	5. Both Sides Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, the very first scene of this chapter has a kind of attempted rape thing?? (it doesn't really happen: I'm all for psychic dreams in my fics lmao) but anyway heed this warning, if that makes you uncomfortable then please, please skip to the first "Bang! Bang! Bang!" just because I want all of you to feel safe and happy - or sad, depends on the type of fic ;) - while reading my stories!! thanks!!
> 
> Like always, I'm too lazy to properly edit and I don't have a beta-reader, so please forgive me for any spelling or grammatical errors!! i do my best, I swear

Lance’s dreams are… unpleasant, to say the least.

He’s in Lighthouse, moon streaming in through the windows. Keith is asleep in his bed. Upon seeing him, something grips Lance tightly. He can’t tell what it is.

He walks towards Keith anyway. Climbs onto his bunk near Keith’s feet, rolls Keith over from his side to his back. Keith’s eyes blink open.

“Lance? What’s happening?” he asks, and Lance stays silent. He covers Keith’s mouth with his hand. Keith tenses.

“Lance, let go of me,” he says, muffled under Lance’s palm. Lance just blinks at him. He takes his hand from Keith’s mouth, instead trailing them down his legs to his ankles. He grips Keith’s ankles tightly, yanking his legs up and apart, folding them over Keith’s body.

“Lance, what the fuck! Let go of me!”

Lance doesn’t listen to him. He grips both of Keith’s ankles in one hand, somehow strong enough to completely overpower him despite his struggles. He slides his free hand down Keith’s leg, slipping his fingers into the leg of his boxers. He digs his nails into the seam on his underwear, ripping them down the centre and leaving Keith exposed. Keith goes from being angry to being fearful. He stops struggling and just sobs, begging Lance to stop.

He doesn’t. He grabs Keith’s ankle again, wrenching his legs apart. Tears stream down Keith’s cheeks, and Lance doesn’t care.

He’s going to hurt him. 

He wants to hurt him.

He wakes up.

It’s dark in Lighthouse and Hunk’s heavy arm is draped over his ribcage, grounding him. He blinks into the dark, and he feels like a monster. Everything blinks into perspective.

He’s been hurting Keith, and he hasn’t even cared. He’s been rude and self-absorbed and Keith’s been caught in the crosshairs. 

He’s a monster. 

Lance clenches his teeth against a sob, pressing his fist to him mouth to keep himself silent. Tears leak from his eyes.

He needs to fix this. 

He doesn’t know how, but he needs to make things right.

 

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Hunk groans, wiping spit from his cheek as he blinks awake. He doesn’t register the warm, lanky body pressed against his until a few seconds later, startling into consciousness. He stares down into Lance’s sleeping face in confusion for a few minutes before catching sight of his bandaged hand. He sighs as last night floods back into his mind, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories of blind fear and panic that he’d barely managed to suppress, hidden under a front of cold determination.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Ugh,” he sighs, climbing over Lance delicately and dropping to the floor before padding across the cabin. He yanks the door open to find Coran standing on the steps, and he glances back at Lance’s sleeping form before stepping outside to meet him.

“You slept through breakfast,” Coran says pointedly, brow raised coldly. Hunk sighs again.

“Hard night,” he mutters, “Did Mike at least wake my kids?”

“Yup,” Coran responds, popping the ‘p’ loudly as he stares at Hunk, unimpressed. “What happened with Lance?”

Hunk bristles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you sleeping in Lighthouse?”

“Mice in Paint Pot,” Hunk growls, almost like he’s challenging Coran to question him. Coran doesn’t hesitate.

“Shiro told me-”

“Of course he did,” Hunk chuckles dryly, rolling his eyes in annoying. Coran exhales deeply and squeezes his temples between two fingers.

“Look, Hunk,” he says, “listen to me. I know what went down last night, and I know that Shiro feels like shit about it. He’s staying with Keith, Allura is taking over for Lance today, Matt’s covering for Keith, and I’ll watch your kids. You have the day to sort this out. If you can’t, we take it to Alfor, and he decides where to go from here.”

Hunk’s hands tighten on the biceps of his crossed arms, knuckles turning white with the force he’s applying. His blunt nails dig into his skin and his teeth tear into his lips. Coran cocks his head, eyeing him sadly and setting a comforting hand on his broad shoulder.

Hunk falls apart.

He takes in a gasping breath as his dark eyes flood, and he limply lets Coran push him into a sitting position on the deck and tug him into his arms.

“Shh, Hunk. I know. I know,” he coos, gently trailing his fingers through Hunk’s hair, “we can figure it out. You’ll be okay.”

“I thought he died. I thought he died, I thought- I thought-” Hunk sobs, fingers curling tightly into Coran’s flannel shirt. Coran just shushes him, rocking Hunk like a baby; it’s nearly comical due to their size difference. 

“Hunk, what happened?”

“He was- he was unconscious in the bathroom and he was bleeding everywhere and I thought he was dead, I thought he was dead. Even before I found him I thought he was dead. I thought I’d have to go home and look Rosa in the eyes and tell her Lance was gone and I- what would I do if he died? What would I do without my best friend, Coran? What would I do?” Hunk sobs. He’s gasping for air now, eyes wide and hazy as he rocks back and forth, lips bleeding from the cuts he left with his teeth. Coran grips his shoulders tightly, hands deceptively strong for his lithe looking frame.

“Hunk, look at me,” he says, soft and yet still demanding. Hunk’s hazy eyes focus on his face. “Lance is okay. He is okay. He’s in that cabin right now, he is alive, he’s still with us. Listen. It is okay. It’s okay, I’m here. I’ll help you.”

Hunk slumps into him, his large body curling up into something small as his shaking subsides, replaced with wracking sobs against Coran’s shoulder. Coran scratches his fingers through Hunk’s hair.

“Take a few days off,” he suggests. Hunk just shakes his head no, and Coran sighs in defeat.

They sit on the steps of Lighthouse for another couple of minutes, until Hunk’s sobbing fades enough for him to string a full sentence together.

“You get today off,” Coran tells him, “try to fix this. I know you can.”

 

“What was that about?” Lance asks as Hunk reenters Lighthouse. Hunk jumps in shock.

“Oh, you’re up!”

“Yeah,” Lance mumbles, stretching. He sits up in bed, sitting cross-legged with his sleeping bag draped over his lap. “Anyway, what were you and Coran talking about?”

“The… incident, from yesterday,” Hunk sighs, scratching the back of his neck. Lance huffs. Hunk interrupts him before he can speak. “Listen, Lance. Shiro and Allura feel like shit about what they did. That doesn’t make it any better, but still. Don’t take it out on them. And I don’t know what went on, but you really hurt Keith.”

“Yeah, I… I know.”

Hunk blinks in shock. Lance hasn’t really been known to admit his shortcomings, at least not outright. His honesty is a little surprising. 

“Well… uhh…Coran’s making us meet him in Motel today before lunch to discuss this, and you can’t get out of it, so do you want to talk to me about it first?”

Lance’s lower lip trembles and he averts his eyes, shuffling over in bed to give Hunk space to climb up. Hunk wraps his arms around Lance’s shoulders, playing with tufts of his hair.

“I just feel like I can’t do anything right with him here,” Lance whispers, “it’s like, he just shows up and everything he does is amazing. I’ve never got that type of recognition.”

“Lance…”

“It’s like, everyone’s leaping over themselves to tell Keith that he’s great, but no one is doing that for me. They’ve never done it. I’ve been here for such a long time and no one seems to care.” He turns his face into Hunk’s shoulder, sniffling, and Hunk just wraps him up tighter, running his fingers down Lance’s spine.

“Lance, we all know that you’re great. There’s greatness in you. And I’m sorry we don’t express it to you, but we do to Keith. Keith is just… so new, and he seems so nervous, you know? But I’m sorry, Lance, I’m so sorry. I never knew.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I guess I’m overreacting.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re not overreacting, you’re human. You’re allowed to be upset by things.”

Lance chuckles into Hunk’s shirt and Hunk smiles, pulling back to see Lance’s face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are flushed but his smile is back.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Hunk blurts. Lance cocks his head. 

“Yeah?”

“How about a shower party?”

 

“Keith, get up,” Shiro says, perching gently on the edge of his bed. He tries to hand him a bottle of water, and Keith just rolls away from him. “C’mon, Keith. Don’t make me do this the hard way.” 

Keith grumbles and Shiro grabs his shoulder gently, so as not to startle him. When Keith is on his back, Shiro climb over him and cradles the back of his head, pressing the bottle to his mouth. Keith blinks, eyes hazily taking in Shiro’s face before letting his lips fall open. He downs the entire bottle.

“Shiro, I’m sorry,” he says after, as Shiro crumbles the bottle in his hand and chucks it in the general direction of the trash can.

“For what?”

“Freaking out over the thing with Lance. Like, I majorly overreacted, it wasn’t that big of a deal…”

“Keith, no,” Shiro interrupts, holding his hand up as if to physically stop Keith’s thoughts. “It upset you, that’s okay. I don’t really know what went down, but you’re allowed to be upset by it, whatever it is.” 

Keith just shrugs.

“C’mon, put pants on, we’ve gotta go,” Shiro tells him, scratching his stomach. He pulls a hat on, tugging his tuft of white hair out to flop over his forehead.

“Eat ass, Shiro, with your perfect body and your perfect hair and your cool metal arm…” Keith whines, tugging on yesterday’s (and the day before’s, and the day before that’s, and… never mind) sweatpants. He also chucks on a cardigan that probably belongs to Hunk and a pair of Birkenstocks he’d borrowed from Shiro - Keith doesn’t own much in terms of camp clothing. Or… clothing. In general.

“Quit your whining, Keith,” Shiro chuckles, rolling his eyes. He throws a brotherly arm around his shoulder, tucking Keith in under his armpit. Now it’s Keith’s turn to roll his eyes, digging his elbow into Shiro’s ribcage. He cuddles into him nonetheless, appreciating the support.

“Ah, Keith! Shiro!” Coran says happily as Shiro and Keith walk into Motel. There are couches set up in a rectangle with Coran sitting at one end, Hunk on the couch to his right.

“Where’s Lance?” Shiro asks, guiding Keith over to the couch opposite from Hunk. Keith leans into his shoulder and yawns.

“Taking a piss,” Hunk replies, “he’s pretty upset, but he’ll be on his best behaviour. I promise. And, Keith, I’m… really sorry about him. He’s going through some weird bullshit and he doesn’t know what to do about it, but that doesn’t make it okay for him to treat you like a punching bag. I’m really sorry, dude.” He averts his gaze, studying his yellow wool socks - Hunk is one of the only people Keith has ever met who can pull off socks and sandals; it just works for him, for some reason.

“It’s okay, Hunk, I- I get it. And it’s not your fault, okay? So don’t worry about it.”

Hunk just nods, setting his ankle on his knee a picking lint off his sock. 

Lance enters Motel silently, hands clasped behind his back with his head down. He takes his seat next to Hunk, who sets a reassuring hand on his knee. They looks eyes and it’s like thousands of words fly between them. Lance nods.

“Alrighty, guys,” Coran starts, “welcome to group therapy with Coran!”

Lance and Keith both snort, locking eyes across the room in surprise. Lance cocks his head and Keith tries to send him a small smile, probably looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“So, my guys, I’m not here to make you talk about your issues. I’m sure you each know about your issues, and you don’t want to share your issues verbally. That’s chill. So what we’re going to do is discuss how we can make camp more manageable. And you know how we’re going to do that? Exposure therapy!”

“Um, what?” Keith asks.

“You and Lance are going to spend a lot of time together until you learn how to get along!”

“Coran, I’m not sure if that’s a great idea…” Hunk says, wincing. Coran just laughs, waving his hand flippantly.

“Of course it’ll work. Exposure therapy is the only reason Shiro hasn’t drop-kicked Lotor across the playing field.”

Shiro visibly shivers, rolling his eyes. “That’s… kind of true, actually.”

“Wait, what happened with you and Lotor?” Lance asks in amusement.

“I fucking hated him since his first year at camp. He left shit all over the cabin, it was so irritating. Holy shit. Anyway, I hated him all the way up until last year: we used to bicker a lot. But last year, he was youngest boys’ coordinator, and Matt and I were middle boys’ coordinators. Turns out, Matt’s scared of teenagers and Lotor can’t stand little kids, so they switched. For the sake of the kids, Lotor and I had to learn to work with each other. We tolerate each other now.”

“There! Perfect example!” Coran cheers, clapping, “the point of this is that you two don’t need to be the best of friends, but you do need to learn to get along. So let’s give it a shot, okay? You’re both working theatre with me during ACAs-”

“Uh… what are ACAs?” Keith asks sheepishly.

“Afternoon choice activities,” Lance replies automatically. Keith attempts another smile at him.

“Anyway, you’re both on theatre with me, so you’ll have three whole hours to start getting along. We got it?”

“Yup,” Keith and Lance say in unison. Coran claps, smiling brightly at all of them before standing up and leaving.

“Lunch is in twenty minutes,” he says over his shoulder, “don’t show up, I’ve told the kids you guys are on laundry. I’ll bring you food.”

“Thanks, Coran,” Hunk calls back.

The four of them sit in silence for a little while, staring at nothing, awkwardness settling around the room like a thick blanket.

“So, uh…” Shiro mumbles, “what’s up, Hunk?”

“Not much, my dude. I’m doing… a lot of stuff.”

“You’re on ropes staff, right?” Shiro asks, already knowing the answer, “I oughta go for a climb soon, I haven’t been up the wall in forever.”

Hunk perks up at this, visibly excited by the ropes talk. “Yeah, Keith or I can belay you! I’ve been teaching him how to do it and he’s gotten pretty good.”

“Aye,” Shiro chuckles, elbowing Keith in the ribs. Keith just chuckles.

“Speaking of,” Hunk continues, “you’ve gotta take Lance and I for a sail soon.”

“Ahh, I’ll see if I can fit you in! It might be a night sail though, Matt and I have been stretched super tight.”

“Well, as long as we don’t drown, a night sail sounds great. And we’ve got the camp’s best lifeguard along with us,” Hunk replies, ruffling Lance’s hair.

“You guys sound like dads trying to out-dad each other,” Lance mumbles, rolling his eyes. Keith giggles into his hand.

“It’s true, Shiro. This is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever sat through.”

“Literally!” Lance exclaims, “you guys are twenty going on two hundred.”

“Well, I’m glad to see that you guys are bonding over making fun of us,” Shiro says happily. Keith groans.

“Ugh, Shiro, don’t make it weird.”

They four of them lapse back into silence, but it’s not suffocating anymore. And, when Lance catches Keith’s eye across the room, it takes a lot less energy for Keith to smile at him.

 

“Alrighty, beloved thespians!” Coran cheers, spreading his arms to the audience. The group of thirty or so kids cheer, jumping up and down on the shiny wooden floor of the theatre. Coran beams, bounding down the steps of the stage to join the group.

“So, everyone, today we have Lance, Pidge - a leader in training - and Keith, a new friend of the theatre! Let’s give them a warm welcome!” He throws his arm towards the stage, where Lance waves happily and Keith and Pidge hide in his shadow, eying each other uncomfortably.

“Alrighty, everyone, circle up!” Coran yells, corralling the kids into a ring in the middle of the floor. Lance leaps off the stage to join, Keith and Pidge trailing along behind them awkwardly.

“Yikes,” Pidge whispers, leaning up on her toes to speak into Keith’s ears. Keith snorts, smiling at her.

“Double yikes,” he breathes back.

“I’m Pidge,” she tells him, nearly inaudible under the sound of Coran explaining the game.

“Keith.”

“Okay! Now that we’re all in a circle, we’re going to go in a circle, say our names, and tell everyone about your favourite made-up animal. Sound fun?” Coran asks the kids, clapping. The group nods simultaneously. “Perfect! Lance, would you like to start?”

“Hi, my name is Lance, and my favourite made-up animal is the pan-giraffe! It’s a panda bear with a really long giraffe neck,” he says, causing the kids to giggle. Keith watches him out of the corner of his eye.

He seems natural. Comfortable.

It’s like this is where he’s really supposed to be.

It’s… really cool, actually.

The kids go around the circle, saying their names and their animals and, before Keith is ready, it’s on him.

“Uhhhhh… I’m Keith, and my favourite made up animal is…. Mothman? It’s like, a moth… mixed with a man.”

“That’s… interesting, Keith,” Coran says. Pidge snorts, loudly, cupping her hand over her mouth.

“I’m, uhh, I’m Pidge,” she chuckles, barely holding in her laughter, “my favourite moth - I mean, made up animal is a sock-odile. It’s like a crocodile made of socks.” She has to stutter out the end of her sentence before turning around, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach and barking out a laugh. Keith slaps her shoulder.

The rest of the introductions wrap up pretty quickly. Keith does his best to focus on the kids, but it doesn’t really work; their little voices cause him to zone out.

“Okay guys, that was fun!” Coran calls, clapping his hands once. “Keith, how about you choose the next game?”

“I… uhh…”

“Say bang,” Pidge whispers to him, and he repeats it without even thinking.

“Bang it is!” Coran declares. “Do we all know how to play it?”

A couple of kids call out that they don’t, and Lance automatically steps in to explain. 

“So, Bang is a game where there’s a person in the middle. They get to point at anyone in the circle. The person they point at has to duck, and the people on either side of them has to turn to the other and yell Bang! The person who yells second loses. If you’re in the middle and you don’t duck, you lose. And if anyone who says bang when they weren’t supposed to loses too. All good?”

The kids all cheer, visibly excited about the game. Keith is, too.

“There’s a catch, everyone!” Coran interrupts, “if you lose, you have to pretend to die really dramatically, like this!” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead, lets out a shrill cry, and peels backwards to the floor. He holds his position on the ground for a moment before his hand shoots up as though he’s grasping at the air and then falls to the ground with a slap. The kids all roar with laughter and Coran beams as he climbs up from the floor, brushing sand from his sweatpants.

Pidge selects a kid to be in the middle, and they play a couple of practice rounds. Keith is actually surprisingly good, as he’s got incredible reflexes, but Lance is amazing. Keith attributes it to the fourteen years that he’s been here.

The game is down to a few survivors: Lance, Keith, and a handful for random children. Keith stands on his tiptoes in anticipation, ready to spring into action. A couple of kids are called, yet he doesn’t have to act. 

Then, it happens. 

The kid between himself and Lance is called and, a fraction of a second after the name is yelled, Lance and Keith turn to each other. To Keith, it feels like time is moving far too slowly and yet at warp speed, all at once. Lance’s eyes are locked on his. His hands come up, but Lance’s are faster. Keith watches helplessly as Lance’s lips form the word…

“BANG!” Lance shouts, just milliseconds before Keith does. Keith gasps, hands pressed firmly to his chest as he stumbles a few steps back and crumbles to the theatre floor, dead. 

Lance winds up making it to the final round, only to succumb to the kid he’s up against (later, he’d say that he lost on purpose, but everyone knew he was lying)

When the duel is done, he pads across the theatre in his socks. First, he extends a hand to Pidge, one of the first to die. Then, almost shyly, he offers his hand to Keith. Keith stares at it for just a second before gripping it, allowing Lance to help him up.

“You were… a real natural,” Lance says softly. Keith bites his lip.

“Your reflexes are astounding,” Keith replies accidentally. That was not what he’d meant to say.

Lance chuckles. 

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head. His hand is still wrapped around Keith’s and they seem to notice this at the same time, but pulling away simultaneously. 

“Alright, everyone, that’s all we have for today. Thank you for joining us in the _theatre,”_ Coran concludes from the stage. He extends the word ‘theatre,’ it rolls off his tongue like “thea-ah-tah” and makes all the kids chuckle as he ushers them towards the exits. Keith, Lance, and Pidge head for the back door.

“It was nice to officially meet you,” Pidge says, offering Keith her hand. Keith shakes it.

“You too, Pidge.”

“See you around, man,” she continues before turning to Lance and promptly hopping on his back. “Take me to Jupiter!”

“Take yourself,” he mutters, already turning towards the hill that separates the oldest campers from the rest of them. Then, he turns around and awkwardly says, “see you around, Keith.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

 

“So, how was theatre?” Shiro asks as they sit on Main dock, plates of food balanced on flutter boards on their laps. Keith shrugs.

“A lot less terrible than I thought it’d be,” he admits around a mouthful of rice. Shiro side-eyes him.

“C’mon, Keith, I know you weren’t raised in a barn,” he chastises. Keith just shovels another heaping forkful into his mouth, smiling widely at Shiro.

“That’s it, I’m leaving.”

“Oh my god, Shiro, it’s camp. It’s the wilderness. Live a little. You know, I’ve wiped my own ass with leaves at places like this.”

“Keith, we have toilet paper…”

“Okay, not places quite like this,” Keith amends, “but like, campsites. I lost my roll of toilet paper on a hiking trip once and I had to wipe my butt with leaves after shitting. It’s not as unpleasant an experience as you might think.”

“How are you not diseased?”

“I probably am,” Keith replies, shrugging. Shiro makes a face, upper lip curling. 

“You are so fucking nasty and I hate that you’re a family member of mine. I wish my parents had never adopted you,” he says, deadpan, and Keith reaches over and squeezes his cheek.

“Eat ass.”

“Nah, thanks,” Shiro chuckles, butting Keith’s hand away. “Also, let’s be serious for a second.”

“Fuck.”

“Keith, c’mon…” Shiro says, rubbing his knuckles on Keith’s head. Keith snarls.

“Fine.”

“Great. How’re you feeling?”

“Well, could be better. The camp food is making me shit and sweat a lot,” Keith replies sarcastically. Shiro rolls his eyes.

“I meant about Lance, you fucking spoon.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Shiro. I’m a little pissed, but being angry isn’t gonna fix anything. I just gotta keep on keeping on,” he mutters to her plate, pushing meatballs around with his fork before stabbing one and jamming it in his mouth. Shiro nods understandingly and Keith narrows his eyes at him.

“You know, I’m not your philanthropy project,” he spits, avoiding Shiro’s eyes. “You don’t have to pity me.”

“Keith, you’re my brother. I’m not pitying you, I just give a shit about you. Sorry,” Shiro says, bumping his shoulder into Keith’s. Keith bites his lip.

They sit in silence for a moment, until the sound of feet on the metal of the dock interrupts them. Both of them turn their heads to see Matt heading towards them, hands in his pockets and shoulders back. He reminds Keith of a stereotypical anime thug and Keith snorts involuntarily.

“Sup, guys,” Matt calls, “thought I might find you here.”

“Hey, Matt,” Shiro replies, bumping fists with Matt as he sits down next to him.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Matt says, “but Shiro, we’ve gotta finish our lesson plans for tomorrow and update our level sheets. The grind is real right now.”

“I’m, uhh…” Shiro hesitates, glancing at Keith. Keith just smiles, picking up Shiro’s plate and stacking it on his own. 

“You’re not interrupting,” he tells Matt, “I was just heading off. I should probably debrief with David and find out what I missed today. See you both later.”

“Keith, hey…” Shiro tries, but Keith is already heading down the dock. He slips back into his sandals and books it to the road, heading up the hill to the kitchen. He passes the plates to one of the kitchen staffers after thanking him profusely before falling back against the wall of the dining hall and heaving in a couple of breaths.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice asks, and Keith’s eyes fly open. 

Before him is a really tall guy with long, white hair that looks humanly impossible and stunning, gold-toned eyes. Keith blinks up at him. 

“Dude?” The guy asks, “you good? Are you, like, a camper?”

“I’m fine,” Keith breathes, “and I’m a counsellor.”

“Really? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“First year,” Keith explains. The guy nods.

“Cool. I’m Lotor, head of tuck. Nice to meet you.”

“Keith,” he replies, taking the hand that Lotor offered.

“You sure you’re good, Keith?” Lotor asks. and Keith just nods. 

“Yeah. I just ran up the hill.”

Lotor chuckles, “bad idea. But if you’re fine, I’m gonna go. Gotta restock the tuck shop.”

Keith just nods and Lotor turns away. Keith blinks at his back as he leaves.

 

Keith winds up just going back to his cabin, praying that David doesn’t come looking for him. He curls up on his mattress to read a book, listening to the sounds of kids outside as evening program runs it’s course. After a while, Hunk walks through the door.

“Hey, Keith,” he says, kicking off his shoes and walking towards Keith’s bed. He hops up onto Keith’s mattress and Keith shuffles over to give him more room. 

“What’cha reading?”

Keith shows him the cover, and Hunk reads the title aloud. “Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the… Cool. Is it good?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s really great,” Keith replies, marking his page and setting the book down. He turns to face Hunk more fully, and is almost shocked to see his face.

Hunk is usually bright, his dark skin seeming to radiate light. Today, though, he seems to fall flat. His usually shining eyes are dull and accentuated with grey bags. Keith frowns.

“Are you okay?”

Hunk sighs. “Yeah, Keith. I’m tired, is all.”

Keith’s frown deepens, and he’s about to pry more, but is interrupted by a knock. Hunk leaps up to answer the door.

“Hey, Hunk… is Keith around?” Lance asks. Keith blinks.

“Uh, yeah,” Hunk says, stepping back to let Lance in.

“Cool. Uh…” Lance mumbles, looking in Keith’s general direction, “wanna come with me? Like, to chat?”

“Lance…” Hunk whispers, setting a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance turns his head ever so slightly and nods at Hunk, who nods back and steps away.

Keith hops off his bed, cramming his feet in his sandals. “Yeah, sure.”

Lance nods, and Keith can feel Hunk’s worried eyes on his back as he follows Lance out of Beehive. He closes the door behind them.

“So, where are we going?” Keith asks, hurrying to keep up with Lance’s long strides. Lance leads him up the hill to the dining hall and Keith is expecting to go in, but Lance keeps walking past it.

“It’s a surprise,” Lance replies, swinging his lantern from his fingers. He leads Keith down the path towards their kids cabins and Keith frowns.

“For real, dude. Where are we headed?” 

“For real, dude. It’s a surprise,” Lance repeats, and Keith just sighs. 

They walk in the dark for a little longer until Lance stops at the top of a flight of stairs. He shuts the lantern off, and Keith squints against the dark.

“Watch your step,” he instructs. Keith can faintly see his back from the porch lights on the cabins and he grabs his shirt instinctively.

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hand back. Lance just chuckles.

“It’s okay, man. Don’t mind.”

Keith reaches out to both sides, gripping both of the stair railing to keep himself from falling down. After what feels like an eternity of blind stumbling, he hits solid ground.

“Take your shoes off,” Lance instructs, and Keith can hear him shuffling out of his sandals. Keith kicks off his own, jumping in shock when fingers brush his hand. Lance’s hand wraps around his, gently tugging him along.

Keith can see the reflection of the moon on the water and he blinks in confusion, looking up.

“Oh, my god,” he says aloud. The sky is filled with more stars than he thinks he’s ever seen, gleaming. The lights of the town across the lake twinkle softly. It’s beautiful.

“I know, right? This is probably my favourite place in the entire camp,” Lance replies softly, pulling Keith behind him. They stop near the end of the dock and Lance sits down, Keith following suit.

“You’ve never been here before have you?” Lance asks, staring out across the lake. Keith can make him out faintly, moonlight reflecting off his blue eyes.

“Nope,” he replies, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees.

“Well, this is the H-dock,” Lance replies, “welcome to it.”

“Thanks,” Keith chuckles.

They sit in silence for a little bit longer, taking in the views of the lake. Keith shivers a little against the cold air but he ignores it.

“Hey,” Lance whispers, tapping his fingers on the dock. Keith turns to look at him but Lance doesn’t look back, eyes trained on the water. He props his chin on his hand, balanced on his butterfly-bent knee. 

“Hey,” Keith replies just as softly.

“I’m sorry.”

Keith blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, softly, closing his eyes. “I was really shitty to you. I’m really sorry, Keith.”

“It’s okay.”

“Keith…”

“It’s okay,” Keith repeats, turning to face Lance fully. Lance lifts his head. “Dude, I get it. I mean, like… I don’t, obviously. I don’t really know what you’re going through. But I’m not about to hold it against you. It’s okay.”

“I just feel really shitty about everything I did to you, like… I was just… I was awful for the past three weeks. I’m so sorry.”

“Lance, I forgive you,” Keith whispers, “I forgive you. It’s okay. And I haven’t been particularly kind to you. I’m so sorry for that.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay?”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

They lapse back into silence. Keith lies down, folding his arms behind his head.

“The sky is gorgeous,” he whispers.

“Yeah, it is.”

 

Keith doesn’t remember going back to his cabin that night, and yet he wakes up to his alarm, fully clothed, zipped to his chin in his sleeping bag.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember, feel free to comment with any feedback, constructive criticism, and whatever else you want me to know!! i love reading what you guys write me.  
> as always, any fic content of mine (art, etc...) can be tagged on tumblr under #gaylaxieswrites and you can follow my tumblr [here!!](http://gaylax-ies.tumblr.com)
> 
> btw: if this fic were a song from Hamilton, i feel like it'd be Its Quiet Uptown just bc of the one lyric like "Forgiveness..."  
> anyway yeah also!! please leave fic suggestions for me to write!! thanks, love you all!!


	6. Don't Fence Me In

It’s really dark as Keith wanders through camp, bare feet getting scraped against the gravel. There’s weight to his hand: he’s holding something but, for some reason, he can’t lift it to see what.

His body leads him to a cabin, just up the hill, nestled in close to the back of the Theatre. He claims the stairs and enters the cabin without knocking.

Lance is asleep, moonlight streaming in through suspiciously clean windows and casting shadows over Lance’s smooth skin.

Keith is moving before he realizes, climbing onto Lance’s bed. He straddles him, pinning Lance’s wrists under his knees. Lance doesn’t wake up.

The object in Keith’s hand feels heavier, now, as his other hand grabs it. He lifts it over his head before bringing it back down firmly, straight into Lance’s stomach. Blood spurts out.

“What the fuck?” Keith says aloud, but he stabs Lance again, regardless. And again, and again. Lance is awake now, face frozen in rage and horror, yelling incoherently. He’s weak, and as he raises his hand to slap Keith across the face, Keith stabs him in the chest.

Lance’s blood sprays from his wounds, showering Keith: it drenches his face, his clothes, his hands. He’s covered in it.

He drops the knife. He presses his hands to his face. He tries to climb off Lance’s dead body, to run for help, but he’s frozen.

Lance sits up.

His face, once angry and scared, is soft now. He reaches out, trailing grey fingers over Keith’s cheek and smiling.

Keith screams.

 

He rockets up in bed, blinking in shock against the darkness. Across from him, Hunk is fast asleep, and Keith can ever-so-slightly hear soft, classical music coming from his headphones. He stares at his own hands.

Where he was expecting to see caked, dark red blood, he is instead greeted with smooth, pale skin. The only stuff under his fingernails is dirt, his t-shirt is soaked only with sweat, his face is clean.

Why, then, does he feel so heavy, so laden down with blood and gore that he can barely think straight?

He shakily climbs out of his bunk, feet hitting the cold wooden floor far louder than he anticipated, and he anxiously looks over to make sure he didn’t wake Hunk. Then he grabs a towel and his shower bag, cramming his feet into his sandals and all but sprinting to the bathroom. He strips out of his sweatpants, turning the water on too hot. He steps under it, thanking God that he’s relatively short for a dude because he fits under the shower head. He drags his fingers though his hair roughly, strands catching round his fingers and getting yanked out. Hissing, he uses the water to wash the loose hair away. Then, he digs his nails into his scalp. He scrubs shampoo through his hair, not bothering to condition it, and washes his body roughly.

He still feels disgusting.

He braces his hands against the shower wall and leans forward, biting his lip and holding back tears. He balls his hands into fists.

Keith hates crying. He can’t stand feeling weak and stupid.

But, right now, there’s no one here to catch him. He falls limply against the wall, water scorching his skin, and sobs.

It makes him feel like an idiot, but it helps.

When his tears have subsided, Keith goes though his entire shower routine again, washing his hair and body vigorously, even going so far at to exfoliate his chest, legs, and face. After an hour has passed under the hot water, he finally feels free of the sticky, heavy blood from his dream. He rinses out his mouth, rubs at his eyes, and picks his fingernails under the hot water before stepping out, roughly drying himself and yanking his sweats back on.

It’s nearing 5am when he gets back to Paint Pot, and he creeps in softly to avoid waking Hunk (he should realize it’s unnecessary; Hunk’s been known to sleep straight through thunderstorms.)

He puts his stuff away in his little cubby-holes and climbs back into bed.

He can’t sleep. He’s left staring at the wooden roof beams, covered in signatures of past staff members, reliving his nightmare over and over.

 

After a few long hours, Hunk’s watch starts buzzing across the room. He stirs, and Keith sits up.

“G’morning, Keith,” Hunk mumbles, “sleep okay?”

“Could’ve been better,” Keith admits, climbing out of bed. Hunk scratches his stomach and stretches, yawning loudly.

“Aww, why’s that?”

“Weird dreams, is all.”

“Wanna climb it away after breakfast?”

“Sounds good.”

 

Keith’s morning doesn’t do much to improve. He trips while carrying a tray of eggs to his table, his carabiner breaks when he’s eight feet up the rock wall, and he gets hit in the face with a tent pole while teaching kids how to set up tents. By the time he gets back to Paint Pot, he’s sore, burnt, and bleeding out of his cheek.

To bring things from bad to worse, Lance is sitting on the Paint Pot porch.

“Hey, Keith!” he says brightly, waving. Keith can see his eye twinge a little, as though greeting Keith so kindly hurt him, but he can’t deny Lance’s effort.

Keith nods at him.

“You know if Hunk’s around? Because I’m waiting for him,” Lance explains, getting up as Keith approaches. He follows Keith to the door. “Keith?”

“I dunno, haven’t seen him.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Lance frowns, and Keith almost wants to hit him, or yell at him. Instead, he slams the cabin door between himself and Lance.

It’s been a couple of days since the big apology and things with Lance have been fine; they’re friendly, they talk when they’re near each other, and they generally just don’t get in each other’s way. But, right now, Keith is so not in the mood to deal with Lance.

“Whoa, man,” Lance says, opening the door and stepping in. “Are you okay?”

Keith rolls his eyes, “not in the mood, Lance.”

“Hey, Keith… are you bleeding?”

Keith’s hand flies to his face, cupping his cheek to cover up the cut. “Not in the mood,” he barks, again. He hears Lance back away and sighs, hoping that Lance will get the hint and leave. He yanks his t-shirt up over his head, and Lance gasps.

“Keith, oh my god. Did you get hit by a truck?” he exclaims, grabbing Keith’s shoulder and spinning him around.

“I told you to leave me alone!” Keith yells, and then he starts crying. Lance’s eyes widen in shock before he springs into action.

“Hey, hey, dude, it’s okay! What happened?”

“I’ve had- a shit day- and I just want to be left alone,” Keith sobs, hating himself. He turns away from Lance, wrapping his arms around his chest.

He hates crying, but he cries so fucking easily.

He wants to bang his head against the wall.

“Okay, just let me treat your shit and then I’ll leave you be,” Lance says, escorting Keith towards his bed. Keith glares.

“I don’t want your help!”

“Well, you’re getting it anyway. Stop complaining,” Lance instructs, swinging his backpack around to his front. He rifles through it, pulling a large, red first aid kit from the bottom of it. He climbs up to sit next to Keith on the bed, examining him.

“What happened?” he asks, wetting a pad of gauze. He daps it around the cut on his cheek, clearing away the dirt and dried blood. Once he’s evaluated the depth, he pats a little Polysporin on it and covers it with more gauze. Keith stays silent and refuses to look at him.

“Dude, what happened?” Lance asks again, evaluating the burn on the centre of Keith chest with a frown.

“Burned myself.”

“No shit, Sherlock. How?”

Keith gulps, face flushing. “I tripped at breakfast. Spilled eggs on myself.”

He’s expecting Lance to laugh and berate him but, instead, Lance just shrugs, pulling a massive burn dressing from his first aid kit.

“Been there, done that. Never got burned, though,” he replies absently as he applies the dressing to Keith’s chest. “Now, what happened to your back? Your shoulders look like hell.”

“My carabiner broke on the rock wall,” Keith says, shifting around to let Lance look at his back. Lance whistles lowly.

“No way,” he gasps, “for real? Shit, man. No offence, but I’m glad it happened to you. Well, not to you! I just mean, like, we’d be sued for all we got if that happened to a kid…”

“I get it, I get it,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. He wipes leftover tear tracks from his cheeks and tucks one leg up on his bed, letting the other dangle down over the edge. Lance sets his hands on Keith’s back.

“Not much I can do for the bruising, I’m afraid, but let me know if anything hurts a lot,” he instructs, pressing his hands firmly against Keith’s back and kneading.

Keith’s initial yelp drops into a loud, awkwardly sensual moan under Lance’s strong, warm hands, and he claps his hand over his mouth in shock. His cheeks are burning, and he drops his head to stare at his sleeping bag. Lance, bless his heart, doesn’t mention it. He just keeps massaging Keith’s back, pressing his thumb into his flesh.

Keith knows he’s checking for deformities or signs that something is seriously wrong, but that doesn’t make the experience feel any worse.

 

Lance is starting to regret coming to Paint Pot.

He’d swung by to borrow a sweater from Hunk (all of his thick sweaters are already dirty) but, upon seeing the mood and physical state of Keith, he knew he had to do something.

He’s starting to wish he wasn’t so perceptive. Or so generous.

Because now he’s sitting in Keith’s bed, his hands dangerously low on Keith’s back, and Keith is moaning into his hand despite his best efforts to stop.

To make matters, worse, Keith is shirtless, the band of his boxers are sticking out over the waist of his red gym shorts, with his hair flopping down over his face.

Lance is breathing too heavily.

“Any pain?” he asks, and Keith shakes his head.

“No,” he breathes, spare hand pressed firmly against his mattress. Lance nods.

“Okay, well… you’re all good? Try not to sleep on your back,” he instructs, sliding his hands under his own thighs. Keith shivers and turns around.

“Uh… thanks. And sorry…” he whispers, looking up at Lance nervously through his eyelashes. His cheeks are bright red.

Lance gulps.

“No problem!” he exclaims, almost leaping off the bed, “well, uh… I should go! See you around, Keith!”

Keith blinks at him in shock but Lance is already running out the door and slamming it behind him.

Unknowingly, both of them breathe a sigh of relief.

Lance gets a sweater from Shiro, instead, and Keith is allowed to sleep through the rest of the day.

They both block out the weird encounter as best they can.

 

The next day starts out a lot better. Keith doesn’t have anymore weird, psychic nightmares, nor does he have any physical accidents or awkward encounters with Lance. He’s stiff, but that’s a pretty tame thing.

The morning is chill: Keith works the harnessing part of the Jungle, checking kid’s equipment before they go out to climb, because his body is too beat up to be an effective belayer. His survival group heads out into the forest, picks up sticks, and builds a fire which they roast marshmallows over. And Hunk sits with him at lunch, taking three fourths of the work from him.

Keith literally owes Hunk his life.

His afternoon seems as though it’s going to head downhill when Alfor takes the mic.

“Hello, everyone, happy afternoon! So, today, we’ve got section ACAs, which means you’ll be deciding as an entire section where to go! Sound good? Perfect, here are the options…”

“Section ACAs? As in, we all go as a section?” Keith whispers to Hunk. Hunk’s eyes are already wide, his jaw hanging open.

“Please, let this be a joke, let this be a joke, let this be a joke…”

“That’s it for lunch announcements, everyone have a great afternoon!”

Hunk’s broad body seems to deflate, spine crumpling and head bonking against the tabletop.

“No,” he breathes, “no, no, no, no, no…”

“Hunk? You okay?”

Hunk proceeds to bang his forehead against the table, hands gripping the edge of it tightly, and Keith frowns.

“Hunk! Dude!”

He shoots back up into a proper sit and looks sheepishly at Keith, seemingly snapping out of a trance and back into reality.

“Sorry, sorry…” he mumbles.

“What was that about?”

Hunk sighs, deep and long, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Section ACAs are hell at the best of times,” he explains, “but I’d rather get my ass eaten by a grizzly bear that have to do section ACAs with the young’uns… fuck me, Keith, I’m gonna retire.”

Keith has to repress a smile: he hadn’t thought of Hunk as capable to produce such a vulgar and… weird analogy. He pats Hunk’s back.

“Sorry, my man.”

“I signed up for it, it’s my fault,” Hunk surrenders, “time to go find out what the kiddos want to do, though: deciding on an activity will take all of rest hour, at least.”

Keith watches as Hunk gets up, shoulders drooping. He looks like he’s aged eighty years. As he’s walking towards the exit, Lance sets a hand on his chest, and Keith watches in amusement as Lance and Hunk share a commiserative nod. Keith suppresses a smile and gets up. He can hear footsteps following along behind him and turns around to see Lance jogging towards him.

“Hey, Keith!” he says brightly, “what’s up?”

“Not much, you?”

“Not much. But anyway, my kids wanna go to open boating, but they’re also okay with playing stealth or mud soccer. How about yours?”

Keith scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, uhh… I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet.”

He’s kind of expecting Lance to be mad at him but, instead, Lance just shrugs.

“Kay, cool. Wanna go find out?”

Keith blinks, cocking his head, and Lance just stares at him expectantly.

“Uhh… sure?”

“Cool. Lead the way.”

Lance follows Keith out of the dining hall and to Minnehaha, chattering all the while. Keith tries to keep up, but Lance’s voice is persistent and ridiculously fast: he talks like he needs it to live. It’s hectic, but… it’s kind of fun.

Keith enters Minnehaha to talk to his kids while Lance sits on the porch outside. He hears a lot of bickering, a couple of swear words, and a few exasperated sighs from Keith, stifling laughter. After a couple of minutes, Keith leaves the cabin.

“Open boating is good for them, but mud soccer is their second choice if there are too many people.”

“Perfect,” Lance replies, getting up, “the split us up, because we have the biggest section, so girls are doing whatever they’re doing and we’re paired up for boating.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keith asks. The news is good; it means they won’t have to deal with preteen flirting and they’re more likely to fit into an activity.

“Yup. So make sure your kids bring towels, bathing suits, life jackets, and runners in case we have to go to soccer. Sound good?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Keith says, smiling. Lance pats his shoulder as he walks past.

“Later, Keith.”

“Later.”

 

Later is right as, approximately an hour after their last conversation, Lance and Keith are sitting in a canoe in the middle of the lake. They’re facing each other, which is improper practice, but nothing bad has happened; they’re content to float in lazy circles. Occasionally, Keith or Lance will have to shout something at one of their respective kids, tasked with care taking as Jack and David nap on the beach in the shade.

“Nice, ain’t it?” Lance asks, lazily swirling his paddle in the water. Keith nods.

“Yeah, but I’m baking.”

“You wearing sunscreen?”

“Nope,” Keith admits sheepishly. Lance glares.

“I’m gonna have Hunk lecture you for an hour on the dangers of UV rays, I swear to fucking God,” he growls. Keith just shrugs and they lapse back into a vaguely uncomfortable silence.

After a few minutes, there’s a commotion to their left.

“Lance! Lance! Help!”

Keith looks over and, sure enough, two of Lance’s kids are spinning frantically in circles, their boat rocking precariously. Keith blinks at them.

“Should you-”

“Yup.”

Keith stares at him as he sits, motionless, pinching the bridge of his nose. The kids keep yelling.

“Lance, maybe-”

“I know. Lean to your right,” he instructs, so Keith does. Lance swings his legs over the side of the canoe and hops out, quickly grabbing the edge to keep it from flipping under Keith’s weight. “I’ll be right back.

Keith just nods, stretching out his legs to spread his weight. He leans back, hooking his arms over the sides of the canoe and dipping his fingers into the lake. It’s cold, refreshing over his hot skin. He flips his sunglasses down and closes his eyes.

“Guys, shhh…” he hears Lance whisper, but he doesn’t really mind. He’s calm, serene, and he isn’t going to let Lance disturb him. Somewhere, kids are giggling.

Something jolts the canoe, and Keith’s eyes fly open just in time to glimpse Lance’s broad hands gripping the gunwales of the canoe before Lance flips him into the water.

Keith shrieks as he’s thrown from the boat and into the cold lake, and he comes up gasping. His head flies from side to side, searching for Lance, and he pounces when he sees him. Lance isn’t expecting the attack; Keith goes flying straight at his chest, and they both tumble into the lake.

It’s time for a clay fight.

The floor of Lake Long-Bottom is almost completely made up of slimy, grey clay, and both Keith and Lance grab handfuls of it. Lance plants his handful against Keith’s chest, so Keith smears his across Lance’s face. They throw balls of clay at each other like snowballs, yelling and laughing the whole time.

“Boys, break it up,” Shiro says after a while, smiling at them from his kayak. He’s paddling around leisurely and he splashes the two of them, so Keith and Lance throw clay balls at him.

Keith eyes Lance and Lance meets his gaze. They both crack a smile.

 

“Keith, Lance, you can both drive, right?” Coran asks, sitting lightly on the edge of their lunch table. Keith and Lance both nod, and Coran smiles.

“Perfect. We have a lot of laundry that needs to get done, tonight, so what would you guys say about taking a trip into town?”

“I’m game,” Lance says, shrugging.

“Yeah, same.”

“Perfect. If you need anything while you’re there, feel free to pick it up. You’re excused until breakfast tomorrow.”

“Shit…” Lance whispers, raising his eyebrow

“Oh, you’re taking the trip van, too,” Coran adds, “see you tomorrow!”

When Coran leaves, Keith and Lance turn to look at each other.

“Uh, what’s going on?”

“We got a ton of laundry to do and not nearly enough time to do it,” Lance sighs, “change into something comfortable, we’re gonna be sitting in the world’s shittiest laundromat overnight.”

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

“I wish, Keith. I wish… But! There’s WiFi.”

“Oh my god,” Keith chuckles, “wow.”

“Could be worse,” Lance shrugs, getting up from the table.

“Could be worse.”

 

It’s two a.m. by the time they’re finished with all the camp’s laundry, and the two of them have just finished trudging through the rain to load the van up with the plastic bins of clothing.

“Fuckin’ thank God,” Keith sighs, pulling the van door shut and tipping his head back against the headrest. Lance hums in agreement, starting up the van. Keith immediately reaches for the temperature controls, blasting hot air into the chilly van.

“Ready to head back?” Lance asks, and Keith nods wordlessly. He watches through the window, the rain seemingly smudging the dim town. It’s gorgeous. He breathes against the glass and drags his fingers through the fog.

The ride back is mostly silent, with Lance and Keith sitting comfortably in the warm van. Keith stares out into the dark forest. Lance takes in a heavy breath, and Keith turns his head and blinks.

“Are you okay?”

Lance nods, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Yeah. I just still feel pretty bad about the first few weeks of-”

“Lance, look out!”

“Oh, holy shit!”

A tree’s been downed in the middle of the road, and now they’re headed straight for it. The asphalt is slick with rainwater, smooth as ice under their tires. They won’t be able to stop in time.

Lance still has to try.

Keith is screaming beside him and, if he’s saying words, Lance can’t distinguish them. His brain, like the sound coming from Keith’s wide-open mouth, is drenched in fear. Maybe it’s brotherly instinct, maybe it’s something else, but as Lance goes to step with his full weight on the brakes, his arm slings across Keith’s chest to hold him safely in place, like a seat belt. The van screeches horribly, the back spinning out as they careen towards the tree.

“This is it,” Lance whispers, inaudible against the sound of the rain and the car and Keith’s terrified screaming, “this is how I’m going to die.”

He shuts his eyes and presses down even harder on the brake, still holding Keith in his seat. And, in a last attempt at heroism, he wrenches the steering wheel to the right. If he times it perfectly, the impact will be on the driver’s side, letting Keith get out unscathed. Keith screams even louder and Lance just braces for the end.

Slowly, slowly, they come to a stop, far too close for comfort.

“Oh my god,” Keith breathes, “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

“Hey, hey, Keith,” Lance says, turning in his seat. He moves his arm from across Keith’s chest, letting his hands hover near Keith’s shoulders, “can I touch you?”

Keith just nods in reply, shaking violently. Lance grips around his shoulders gently.

“Look at me, Keith, hey,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re safe now; we’re okay.”

Keith shakes his head, his breath leaving his chest in shaky, erratic pants as tears leak from his eyes. Spit drips from his chin and his shoulders curl into his chest.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit, this is bad,” Lance grumbles, moving one hand from Keith’s shoulder and setting it gently around the back of his neck. “Keith, look at me. Can you tell me if you’re having a panic attack?” Keith just sobs, his entire torso moving as he nods. “And has this happened before?” Keith nods again. “Can you give me any insight on what I should do?”

“I- I don’t know,” Keith replies, so softly that Lance barely hears him. “I’m sorry, I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shit, shit, Keith, hey,” Lance says urgently, grasping Keith’s chin and pulling his face up a little. Keith recoils. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. And I have no idea what to do right now; standard first aid training doesn’t cover this. But what I’m gonna do it get you out of this van-”

“What? No, no, Lance, the storm-”

“I know, Keith, I know, just hear me out. I’m gonna get you out of this van and into the back of it so you can lie down. You’ll have more room, it won’t feel as confining, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“Don’t move, I’ll come around to get you, okay?” Lance asks, grabbing a flashlight from the centre console. He doesn’t wait for a response before jumping out of the car and into the rain. Keith just trembles, watching the beam of light travel around the front of the car towards the passenger’s door.

“Can you stand?” he asks, opening Keith’s door and holding out a hand.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, struggling to swing his legs out. The second his feet hit the ground, his legs give in.

“Whoa, there. I’ve got you,” Lance says with a half-hearted chuckle, handing Keith the flashlight. “Hold this, I’ll carry you.”

Keith doesn’t even have time to protest before Lance is sweeping an arm under his legs, cradling him to his chest like a princess, or a baby. It’s familiar to Keith… Lance had carried Pidge like this, on his very first day up at camp, almost three weeks ago. It’s been so long since then.

So much has changed.

The torrential rain soaks them to the bone in the five seconds it takes Lance to get around to the back of the van, and he has to set Keith down in order to open it. Keith sways where he stands and, though he seems mostly stable, it’s a relief when Lance sits him down in the back of the van and pulls the door closed.

“Keith?” he asks softly, searching in the staff laundry bin for a towel. He pulls out one of Matt’s and uses it; Matt won’t give a shit. He wraps it around Keith’s shoulders after briefly rubbing it over his head, attempting to get the water out of Keith’s wild hair.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes in response. His voice is still soft and uncertain but his breathing and heart rate have evened out, and his hands aren’t shaking so badly anymore.

“What’s your name?” Lance asks, starting on his usual series of questions that he asks after things like this. It’s grounding, for most; helpful in calming people down.

“Keith Kogane.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Shiro.”

“Full name, please, Keith.”

“Shirogane Takeshi.”

“Good, good. Are you feeling a little better?” Lance wonders, laying his hand across Keith’s forehead. _He’s a little cold…_

“I’m alright,” Keith answers, nodding. He clutches the edges of the towel around his shoulders, wrapping it tighter around himself and curling his knees in to his chest.

“Cold, eh?” Lance jokes, getting back into the staff laundry bin and rooting through it, searching for clothes.

“It’s okay,” Keith replies, looking anywhere in the van but at Lance. Lance just rolls his eyes.

“I’m freezing too, dude. Also, it’s bad to wear wet clothes for too long- you could get hypothermia. Did you put anything warm in for laundry?”

“Um… some sweats, I think? Other than that, I just have t-shirts and shorts,” Keith admits. He wiggles a bit, clearly shivering.

“Alright, I’ll find you something. Take your clothes off,” Lance instructs, pulling Keith’s red sweats out of the bin.

“What?” Keith asks incredulously, wrapping the soaked towel even tighter around himself. Lance chuckles.

“Your clothes are soaked, Keith; you gotta get out of them,” he says, laughing a little, “I won’t look, don’t worry.”

Keith sputters a bit and Lance turns his attention to the laundry bin. He drags out various sweaters and other warm things, checking for labels. If they belong to him, Hunk, Matt, or Shiro, he’ll use them.

“Keith, you got any underwear or anything in here?” Lance asks nonchalantly, rooting through the laundry. Keith coughs awkwardly.

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“You good to use some of Shiro’s?”

“Um, I guess… why do I have to change my underwear?” Keith asks. Lance can tell he’s blushing without even looking at his face.

“Is your underwear wet?”

“Well, yeah…”

“That’s your reason. Heads up,” Lance says, tossing Keith his sweats and a pair of Shiro’s boxers. He also sends him a long sleeve of Matt’s. Then he strips down himself, yanking on his own sweats, Hunk’s sweater, and his jacket before packing the laundry bin back up.

“Can I look now, Keith?” he asks sarcastically, not even waiting for a reply before turning back around. Keith is curled up against the wall of the van, his wet clothes shoved into a pile in the corner, looking extremely embarrassed. Lance just chuckles, dropping his wet stuff with Keith’s and sitting across from him.

“You okay, dude?” he asks. Keith just nods, averting his eyes. “Hey, Keith. Stop being embarrassed. You’re not the first person I’ve had to strip down. You even did it yourself, which is better than most. It’s all part of being a counsellor.”

“I guess,” Keith whispers. Lance just smiles.

“Dude, it’s okay. And isn’t a little awkwardness better than freezing your skinny ass off in a van?”

Keith gapes, and Lance thinks he might get upset for some reason. Then he crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. “My ass is _not_ skinny.”

Lance stares at Keith in shock for a minute, the sarcastic reply catching him completely off guard, before wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach and barking out a laugh. Keith grins tightly, suppressing his own laughter for a couple of seconds before collapsing into giggles as well.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Lance wheezes, “Keith made a funny.”

“It’s been known to occur,” Keith giggles, covering his own smile with his hand.

“Oh my god, get fucked, Keith.”

“Oh, honey, not my gay ass.”

Lance freezes, dopey smile on his face. Keith freezes too.

“Keith, did you just…”

“Uhhhh….”

“Keith, oh my god…”

“Uhhhhh…”

“Dude! Pidge, Hunk, and I thought we were the only gays at camp!”

“Wait, there are more gays at camp?” Keith exclaims, the conversation so not going where he was expecting.

“Yeah! Pidge is a major lesbian, Hunk’s pan, I’m bi. But like, that’s it for gays! Oh my god, we’ve acquired a new one!”

“Wait, what about Matt?” Keith asks, “Matt’s totally gay.”

“You think so, too?” Lance yells excitedly, and Keith cracks up.

“I can’t believe- we are _bonding-_ over being gay,” he pants, face scrunching up with laughter.

“Maybe, if we’d both just come out to each other on the first day, the rivalry could’ve been avoided,” Lance giggles.

“That’s gay culture right there.”

“Oh my god,” Lance howls, and they crack up all over again.

 

Keith doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up, confused and disoriented, in the van around 8 hours later. Lance is still asleep next to him, breathing softly, and Keith shakes his shoulder.

“Lance,” he says, shaking him again. Lance blinks awake with a loud groan.

“My back HURTS!” he yells, sitting up and stretching. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you slept in a van,” he deadpans. Lance looks around.

“Oh, right.”

Keith flops back down, stretching out on the floor of the van and staring blankly at the white roof.

“Lance, we almost died yesterday.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to keep skirting around each other.”

“Me neither.”

“Date me.”

“Sounds good.”

Lance’s hand wraps around Keith’s and neither of them look at each other. Keith breathes deeply.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry that I put your underwear on the flagpole.”

“I’m sorry that I put your sleeping bag on the roof of the dining hall.”

“I’m sorry that I put a thumbtack on your breakfast chair.”

“I’m sorry that I stole your clothes and towel while you showered.”

“I’m sorry that I called you a sentient lamp post.”

“I’m sorry that I called you Queef behind your back for two weeks.”

“You fucking what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yee please comment my guys i literally cry every time i read ur comments

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment, I love reading them!! There should also be new chapters every weekend, so subscribe and stay tuned


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